


struck by lightning (and now our love's been set ablaze)

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, James Rogers (son of Steve and Natasha), Tatiana Rogers (daughter of Steve and Natasha)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 78,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Marvel's Cinematic Universe (mostly Steve/Natasha) drabbles.</p><p>Drabble #62 - Steve/Natasha - She has that look in her eyes, that little sparkle in them that lures him in every damn time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve/Natasha - Natasha's the overprotective parent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rationally, she knows she has no reason to be upset with Steve. No fair reason, anyway. But she still is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** gen  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **for:** the anon that prompted it  
>  **prompt:** "Ironically, Natasha can be more protective of their kids than Steve; though, he figures this is because she only has so many things she wants to protect."
> 
> I attempted to answer the prompt and then got carried away. Sorry!

Rationally, she knows she has no reason to be upset with Steve. No _fair_ reason, anyway.

But she still is.

She never wanted their kids to get into what she and Steve do, alright? As much as she loves it – and she kind of _does_ , to be honest – dodging bullets and using blunt force to knock a person unconscious is not what any sensible parent wants their kids to have to go through at all.

And it's not like Steve disagrees with her on this, but he also made the point that the kids grew up knowing that their dad was Captain America and their mom was Black Widow and their aunts and uncles all fight crime one way or another, so really, is it all that surprising they're so set on following in everyone's footsteps towards world peace? And are they in any real place to tell them they can't? James and Tatiana have been on the inside of global security operations under Stark Industries for years, grew up listening to (seriously modified) stories of everyone in action and seeing everything their parents did in the media. They know the bad stuff, too, now that they're older, but that sure as hell didn't scare them away.

And they're _so talented_ , too. That's the hardest part. It all comes naturally to them, the fighting and planning and improvising, and they pick up the skills so quickly.

They'll become better agents than she and Steve ever were, and she's proud of them for that, truly. Because they're not just great at what they do, but they do it for all the right reasons, too. They're compassionate and selfless and have been since they were little. They've always hated seeing other people feel helpless just as much as they've always hated seeing others take advantage of that helplessness. They were never going to settle for doing anything _but_ this with their lives and she's known that. That doesn't mean she likes it.

(And, no, she doesn't care if that doesn't make much sense.)

She's a parent. First and foremost, she's going to worry – _constantly –_ about her kids.

"Natasha…"

She doesn't answer. Steve hates the silent treatment and so does she, honestly, but it's the only real way to get her point across. If she lets herself talk to Steve, it'll only take a few words out of his mouth for her to be significantly less pissed.

So she keeps her back to him and grabs another rinsed apple from the strainer in the sink. Caramel apple slices are Tatiana's favorite snack and Natasha hasn't had to prepare it for her since she was old enough to be trusted with a knife and slice them herself, but Tatiana's lying on the couch nursing a wound she got on what was supposed to be a simple escort detail, so Natasha thinks she can baby her daughter a little. She'll be completely healed in three weeks at most – _thank god_ – and Natasha knows that it could've been worse, but still.

She'd rather her to not have to go through recovery in the first place.

"Natasha," Steve tries again, but then James is walking into the kitchen and asking, "Mom?" and she looks pointedly passed Steve.

"What do you need, babe?"

"Uncle Tony called, asked if it was alright if they came over for a visit," he announces, and the look he's giving them (well, mostly her) tells her that he knows she's still upset. She hates to act like this in front of the kids, but at the same time, she kind of loves that they're not _too_ worried about it. They know their parents won't _ever_ call it quits.

"Yeah, tell him that's fine and they're welcome to stay for dinner. And if your Aunt Pepper asks what to bring, tell her we could use more apples."

"Alright," he says, looking between them again before walking away.

"Is that such a good idea?" Steve asks. "You know they'll be able to tell that we're fighting."

"We're not fighting." She jams the tip of the knife into the cutting board, finally meeting his eyes, and he looks so _distraught_ that she feels instantly terrible. Because, as worried as she's been, she knows he feels just as awful as her, if not more. She'd been in an entirely different state when it'd happened, but Steve was on that assignment with Tatiana, part of her backup detail, and though they were separated and there was no way for him to have been able to protect her, Natasha knows he blames himself. "I just hate that she got hurt."

"So am I," he reminds.

"I know, but you…" She lets out a breath. "I wanted them to have no part in what we did but you were so adamant in letting them. And this isn't me trying to blame you, but if I had it my way then neither of them would be putting their lives at risk like us."

"You know they wouldn't really be happy, though. They wouldn't feel like they're doing their best or trying hard enough."

"I know," she says. He reaches for her hands and she slips their fingers together, squeezing gently. "I know where you're coming from. I know you went through exactly that when you were trying to enlist, and you don't want James and Tatiana to feel that kind of helplessness. I don't want them to, either. But I hate letting things happen to them."

"Hey," he breathes, pulling her closer. "You're not _letting_ anything happen to them. You just can't protect them from everything, either."

"I have to try. If anything were to happen to you or the kids, I don't—"

"Nothing's going to happen." She draws a breath to protest but he combs his fingers through her hair and adds, "We'll always make our way back to each other. We'll always make our way back to _you_ and you already know that. That's why you're able to let us go in the first place."

She closes her eyes and lets out a laugh, leaning her forehead against his neck. "Why do you always have to be right?"

"I'm not," he replies with a chuckle. "But after all these years, I think I'm finally able to understand my wife."

She knows he's (mostly) joking, but she wraps her arms around his waist and murmurs, "You've always been able to, even when you thought you didn't," against his skin, smiling at the way his chest rumbles in a laugh.


	2. Steve/Natasha - sneaking around because no one knows they're a couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as the others know that she and Steve are in a relationship, it'll take a while for them to get any real peace. Their friends are nosy and meddlesome like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **for:** [ice326](http://ice326.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "newly couple sneaking inside the stark tower to make out since nobody knows they're together :)"

It's not that they're hiding this from everyone. They'll get around to telling the others.

It's just nice to have something that's entirely theirs, you know?

Living with everyone else at the Tower means that they share everything and they see each other often, and honestly, Natasha kind of loves it. They don't spend every available hour together, and yeah, there're arguments here or there (or, you know, every day) over little things, but that's a given. They're all such different people so of course there's going to be tension between them at times. But at the end of the day, they'd rather live a few floors away from each other and risk there being an argument than live separately and barely have time to see each other at all. Besides, their schedules are so crazy that if they _didn't_ have the luxury of going up to each other's floors at odd hours then they'd never see each other.

Still, she likes her distance and privacy every now and then, and it's not that she can't have that whenever she wants, but…

As soon as the others know that she and Steve are in a relationship, it'll take a while for them to get any real peace. Their friends are nosy and meddlesome like that.

... ...

After she and Pepper get out of their meeting, Natasha heads up to the common floor first because she's hungry but doesn't know what she's craving, and there're more snack options in the shared pantry than hers and Maria's personal kitchen.

Steve walks in a few minutes after she tears open a bag of M&Ms, and he smiles and slides his hand over her hip as he kisses her temple.

They don't have to be careful about security cameras on the common floor, or any of the private floors, actually. Tony has privacy issues, but even he's not _that_ invasive. And it's not like he doesn't trust them, or ignores the fact that they're all adults and entitled to their own business even if it's under his roof, so it's fine that they do this here.

"Is this new?" he asks, tugging at the hem of her brown, leather skirt. She nods. "I like it."

She arches an eyebrow. "Got a thing for leather?"

He grins. "Got a thing for you," he corrects, and she rolls her eyes but smiles as he slants his lips over hers. It's quick and gentle at first, but then a hand is in her hair, cradling the back of her head as he kisses her a little harder and a little deeper, his other hand curving over her hip.

(Yeah, he definitely has a thing for leather. She already has ideas for that.)

It's very easy for her to get distracted when he's kissing her, especially now that he's gotten better – a lot better – than when she kissed him by surprise on the escalator that first time. And no, she's not the kind of person that feels uncomfortable knowing he's made out with other girls before. The fact that she's his first and only in far more important ways makes up for any ounce of misplaced jealousy she might feel. Besides, she's done a lot more than kiss someone she didn't have any feelings towards, so she's not in a place to talk. Not that Steve would _ever_ use that, or anything she did under orders, against her, but still. It can't be easy accepting that she's slept with other men, no matter what the reason.

Anyway.

She ends up sitting on the edge of the counter with her legs wrapped around his hips when JARVIS interrupts with, "If it's of any use, Agents Rogers and Romanoff, you have company coming up the elevator in twenty seconds."

She pushes Steve from her and hops off of the kitchen island in one motion, and Steve blinks as if in a bit of a daze as she straightens her skirt and blouse.

"Hey," Bucky greets as he, Bruce and Sharon walk into the kitchen, and he walks passed Steve and Natasha to pull open the fridge and grab two beers, tossing one to Sharon. "Nice to see you own clothes that aren't black, Nat," he comments with a grin as he gestures at her.

"I love the leather," Sharon says, and in her peripheral, Natasha tries not to smirk when Steve gets this grin on his face.

... ...

They're on his and Sam's floor because Sam has dinner reservations with Jane, Darcy and Clint downtown, and Maria's out of the country with Nick on business all weekend, so they have the place to themselves and have a few hours before anyone comes looking for either of them.

They probably should've been paying closer attention to the time, though.

She's straddling his hips with her hands braced against the couch and her hips gently rocking against his as they're kissing, and honestly, there was never anyone before Steve that could make kissing feel this amazing. He has his hands resting on her thighs and is barely touching her and her blood is already thrumming. She loves the way he kisses her, like he can't get enough but still wants to take his time, and considering everything about her life had been so fast-paced before, it's kind of surprising how much she loves taking it slow.

But then the elevator is chiming and she rolls off of Steve so quickly that it takes another half-second for her vision to focus.

Steve yanks the blanket over their legs and grabs the remote off the coffee table, flipping through channels as Sam walks into the living room, and since her and Steve hanging out is a pretty normal thing, Sam doesn't think twice about seeing her.

"Want some dessert?" he asks them, handing her a container. "But there's only one slice, so Steve will have to share it with you, 'Tasha."

"You mean Steve _is_ sharing it with me," she corrects, popping the lid open, and Steve chuckles as Sam plops onto the couch on her other side and asks what they're watching.

... ...

They're all up at the penthouse for dinner when Steve pulls her into the hallway and out of view from where everyone's in the dining room, kissing her deeply, and she knows that's because he saw the chain of his dog tags around her neck where it was hidden underneath her shirt. She took them from his room the other day and then pulled them on for no real reason when they were in her room earlier today, and as soon as he saw them on her, it's like he _needed_ to kiss her. Well, it ended in a lot more than just a kiss, even if they had to be quiet because they could hear Maria and Darcy cooking in the kitchen, and she honestly forgot she'd still been wearing them after he left and she was getting changed for dinner.

"This isn't some weird possession fetish of yours, is it?" she asks.

He chuckles because he knows she's teasing, but still sounds serious when he says, "Of course not. I just… I really like seeing them on you."

Their friends are literally just in the next room and could walk in on them in any second, but she pulls him in for another kiss because, _god_ , he's kind of adorable and sexy at the same time when he's like this.

... ...

Tony and Pepper have everyone up for lunch three days before the Fourth of July, and it's the first time in literally _months_ that all of their schedules lined up to where they all have the day free to spend together, so duh, they're going to take advantage of that.

Also, it's Steve's birthday, so.

Well, technically Steve's birthday _is_ the Fourth of July (and of course there've been plenty of jokes about that) but the city's throwing him this huge party and it's an all weekend thing because it's that big of a celebration, and they'll all be there for him, yes, but it'll obviously be way too crazy for them to spend any quality time together. And no, it's not Steve's style at all, but he's too nice of a guy to tell them he doesn't want the party. So that's why they're celebrating it today the way he wants it: as a simple barbecue with his closest friends.

It's beautiful out, too, and they're all in their swimsuits and lounging in and around Tony and Pepper's rooftop pool.

She's sitting with Sharon, Pepper and Darcy on the steps leading into the shallow end, sitting deep enough that the water comes up to her shoulders. They'd just sit in the hot tub instead if, you know, it wasn't over eighty degrees out and they weren't totally exposed to the sun.

Steve's passing behind them as he's walking from where they have the food set up, and Natasha tips her head back and asks, "Want to share your lemonade, birthday boy?"

He grins and kneels down, handing her the glass. "You're always such a gentleman, huh, gramps?" Darcy teases.

"Well, I wouldn't want her to pass out from dehydration, right?"

"If you really don't want me to pass out, you'd get me a drink of my own and it'd be strawberry lemonade," she replies, and he chuckles, says, "Coming right up," and then leans over to kiss her lips.

And she doesn't think twice about it until she hears someone – most likely Tony – say, "Son of a bitch," and glances around to find everyone staring at them.

Oops?


	3. Steve/Natasha - Sam and Clint trying to set them up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wouldn't be the first time Clint's tried to set her up with someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **for:** the anon that prompted it  
>  **prompt:** "Sam  & Clint play matchmaker for Natasha&Steve because their best friends are clearly into each other."

This wouldn't be the first time Clint's tried to set her up with someone.

It hasn't happened in a while because they've been scattered and preoccupied (biggest understatement of the century, she's sure) and even before, when S.H.I.E.L.D. still existed and they saw each other on a somewhat regular basis, it didn't happen often. That probably has to do with the fact that he's not very good at it.

He knows her well and was decent at finding guys – usually fellow operatives but also the occasional oblivious civilian – that were potentially interesting, but she could tell right away that none of them would be able to handle her in the long run, so none of them ever made the cut. He managed to get her paired on assignments with a few of the guys he'd tried setting her up with, but that's as close to a date as anyone got. If she could tell that none of them were going to work then why go through with it, right? Besides, she knew they'd either breakup or get married, or settle into something just as permanent, and that wasn't for her. It still isn't, she thinks, but a lot has changed and she's not ruling it out anymore.

Not that she thinks it isn't still a longshot, but whatever.

(And there were _a lot_ of jokes about the fact that the guy who wields a bow and arrow is playing matchmaker. Of course there were. How could she pass them up?)

_Lobby. 10 sharp. Wear something pretty._

It's written in Clint's scrawl on a post-it stuck to the fridge door when she walks into the apartment she and Maria share in Stark Tower. She considers just ignoring it, but she's been with Pepper in and out of meetings all day and honestly, she could use the excuse to go out.

She's not making any promises on the date part, though.

... ...

He's not really sure how Sam talked him into this, but it's long overdue that he spends a night out and he knows.

He's _known_ for a while now, actually, and has just been avoiding it.

But it's been almost four years since he got off the ice and he feels a lot more at home than he did before, and that's all he could really ask for. Living in Stark Tower with everyone has probably made all the difference, too. When he'd been in Washington, on his own and just carrying out S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments, things still felt _off_ to him, like he was just getting by but not quite _living_ , and he wasn't sure how to fix that. Now he lives with the others and they make plans sometimes, or just drop by each other's floors without much notice and think of something to do. Someone is almost always home or on the common floor, and he likes knowing that he's not totally alone, that he can go to someone whenever he wants.

Even if he's a little reluctant to actually go along with whatever plans are happening, like tonight. It's not that he _doesn't_ want to go out. He's not a hermit or anything.

Bars just aren't really his scene.

Sam convinces him to come, though, and they've been to this place before. It's rather low key and pretty casual, so he doesn't feel underdressed in just corduroy pants and a black button-down with the sleeves pushed past his elbows.

"Tell me again why we aren't just going clubbing," Darcy asks as they're waiting in the lobby.

"Because," Sam says, clapping a hand against Steve's shoulder, "we wanted Captain Conservative here to come along."

Steve smirks a little and shakes his head. "Yeah, make me wait ten more minutes and Captain Conservative is spending another night watching TV on the couch."

"She'll be here," Clint reassures, not looking up as he fixes his cuffs. "I'd say she likes making an entrance, but mostly she just likes to make me wait."

"Who's—"

But the elevator chiming cuts Maria off, and Steve turns to find Natasha walking towards them, her heels clicking against the marble. She looks… Well, she always looks beautiful, and yes, her dress is cut a little lower and falls a little shorter than usual, but it's hardly inappropriate.

Clint gets this smirk on his face and pushes off the wall, heading for the doors, and Natasha falls into step beside Steve as they walk out.

"What?" she asks after a moment, tilting her head up to offer him one of her knowing smiles, because she can probably (definitely) feel his eyes still on her, but he just grins in return and doesn't reply.

He likes seeing her hair in curls again.

... ...

Half an hour in, she's sitting with Steve at the bar and very aware of the fact that they're on a triple date right now. She figured that's what this was when she walked into the lobby and saw who was waiting – because Sam and Maria have had this flirtation since he and Steve moved into the floor above hers and Maria's, and Clint and Darcy have been sleeping together for the last month and either don't care if anyone else knows or are just doing a bad job at hiding it. (It's probably the first. Clint is _much_ better at hiding things than this.)

Right now, Clint and Darcy are on the dance floor and Sam and Maria are huddled together under a heat lamp on the patio.

Yeah, their friends totally did this to them on purpose.

She kicks off her heels, lets them fall to the floor (she saw a pair she wants to replace them with, anyway) and then stretches her legs across his lap, and he just chuckles a little and takes another gulp of his drink. He's had a few, but that's almost nothing to him thanks to the serum.

"So, did anyone in here catch your eye that I can help set you up with?"

"No," he says with a laugh. "I mean, there're a lot of beautiful women in here, but I'm not in the mood tonight."

She raises her eyebrows and he shakes his head like he's caught onto what he said. "You mean there are nights when you _are_ in the mood? Though," she adds, setting her cheek against her hand, "it's only natural, right? I mean, you're a hundred, not dead."

"I'm not a hundred."

"Close enough," she says, waving the detail away. He grins, shaking his head. "Seriously, if you want me to find you a girl, I'll get—"

"Tasha," he interrupts, laughing again, and she just shrugs and takes a gulp of her drink. He's smiling at her. He's also staring at her like… She can't really place it, but he's been doing it all night, ever since he saw her walking off of the elevator – not like he's stealing these glances and looking away when she catches him, and not like he's ogling her, either. He just _looks_ at her as if he can't help it. Almost as if she catches his eye when he's turning to see something else or happens to notice her in his peripheral and he can't help but look at her.

"What about you?" he asks after a moment. "Are there any guys worth talking to?"

She tilts her head. "Would you be my wingman if there were?"

He pauses for a moment, admits, "Probably not," with a bit of a laugh before taking another gulp, and she smiles because that's the answer she was looking for.

... ...

When she comes back from using the bathroom, she sits herself across his lap and plants a (pretty hot) kiss on him, and all night he's been thinking about how he kind of loves her hair when it's curled like this, so his first reaction is to comb his fingers through it and return the kiss.

He kind of loves kissing her.

She lets out this very, very faint noise from the back of her throat as his fingertips massage her scalp, and he sets a hand on her hip to steady her and cradles the back of her head with his other hand as their lips pause, but neither of them dare move, like they're figuring out what they want to do next. He kind of figured she must just be putting on a show for some guy who attempted to pick her up, because after turning five or six of them down within ten minutes, she started to play it off like he was her boyfriend to keep them away – a kiss every now and then, her fingers trailing up his thigh or combing through his hair, tilting her head so that he'd kiss her neck. It worked, for the most part, though guys still tried.

(There are a lot of disrespectful assholes in the world, or at least in this bar.)

"You're really good at this," she murmurs against his lips, and, alright, he feels a little too proud at how breathless and flushed she is.

"Should I be offended at how surprised you sound?"

"I'm not surprised," she insists, and then braces a hand against the bar behind her for balance as she shifts to straddle his hips. "Kiss me like you mean it, Rogers."

"I always mean it, Romanoff," he breathes, and he's not even sure if that makes any sense, but she must understand him, anyway, because grips onto the front of his shirt and brings their lips together again.

... ...

Sam gives them this knowing smirk the next morning, when Steve is walking her out so that she can get ready for her meeting with Pepper, and she just gives a (light) punch to his abs and says, "You know what that was for," before kissing Steve and stepping onto the elevator.

Maria hands her a mug of coffee when she walks through their door, and there's another post-it stuck to the side with Clint's scrawl.

_You're welcome. And you owe us._

She just laughs. It's going to be a while before they let this go.


	4. Steve/Natasha - "You miss me?" (gif)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cap's been asking around about you. It's kind of annoying, really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** gen  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** (gif below)

Tony finds her in London.

He says he just met up with Nick to catch up on a few things (which is probably one hell of an understatement, because Nick doesn't do casual conversation) and she doesn't doubt the man pointed Tony in her direction. He ignores her when she asks what he and Nick are up to, and though she has a pretty good idea, she wants to see if he'll talk. He doesn't, of course, but he takes her to a private lunch and tells her that Pepper's missed her and wants her to come home, which is as close as he'll get to admitting that _he's_ missed her, too.

"Pepper's not the only one," he adds, dropping something onto the table by her tea. A business card for Stark Industries with a number scrawled out underneath the print. "Cap's been asking around about you. It's kind of annoying, really."

"Yeah?" she asks, picking up the card.

"He's insistent." Tony leans back in his chair, a knowing look on his face. "Did something happen between you two?"

She smirks, amused. "I bet you'd love to know, wouldn't you, Stark?"

"Not really," he replies. She laughs because she knows he's lying. "But you should probably give the guy a call to let him know you're alive and everything before he sends out a search party for you and drags you back against your will. Unless, of course," he adds, tilting his glass towards her, "you actually _do_ want to come back."

She raises her eyebrows. "If this is your roundabout way of saying something else, just spit it out, Tony. You're not good at subtle."

He narrows his eyes at her (playfully) and sighs, signaling for one of the waiters to come over.

The guy clears the plates the in front of her to set down a folder onto the table, and she glances at Tony. "Before you start thinking you're special," he starts as she flips it open and begins thumbing through the papers. "This is basically the exact same thing I already offered everyone else. You'll just be the last one that actually takes me up on it. What all that means is that you'll be able to live and work at Stark Industries and you'll be under the protection of my lawyers the second you come home, so no one will be able to get near you."

She lets out a breath, admittedly impressed. "How did you manage that?"

"My lawyers are a force to be reckoned with. Ask Maria." Natasha feels herself smile. Yeah, she recalls the girl telling her that. "It's yours if you want it."

"This is actually… pretty great, Tony."

He lets out a laugh. "Well, I _am_ capable of doing something nice for a friend every now and then. You can thank Pepper for that." Natasha just grins. "But do me a favor, because I'm such a great friend, and give Steve a call either way. It's literally a pain to hear him ask about you so often."

"He really bothers you about me that much?"

"It's not just me he bothers," Tony says, and the tilt of his head tells Natasha that he knows she knows what that's supposed to mean.

... ...

He's standing with Sam and Clint outside the Stark Tower when she calls him from the payphone across the street, watching his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he doesn't recognize the number. Sam and Clint lean over to read it, both shrugging, before Steve finally answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, soldier," she greets, and, alright, she kind of loves that he recognizes her voice immediate, even after not hearing it for months.

"Natasha?" He lets out a breath, and even if she couldn't see his expression from across the street, she can still hear the relief pretty clearly over the line. She sees Sam raise his eyebrows in surprise, looking to Clint, who has that knowing smirk of his as he shrugs his shoulders. She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. Oh, of course Clint has already seen her. She should've caught onto that sooner, but she's been a little out of practice the last few months, so she thinks she can let that go this one time. "How did you get my—"

"How'd I get your number? Tony gave it to me. Apparently you've been bugging everyone to try and get a hold of me." Steve laughs a little and she grins in return, gnawing on her lower lip. Gosh, she's missed his laugh. "What's the matter, soldier? You miss me?"

"I'm not much of a soldier anymore." She tilts her head. Yeah, she supposes that's true. "And of course I've missed you."

That makes her smile.

"You always did know how to charm a girl, didn't you? Well," she adds, "the blue eyed-blonde thing you've got going on probably does half the work. Nice hair, by the way."

She grins as she sees him pause, catching onto her words, and he looks around, scanning the crowds. Sam gives him a look that Steve ignores, but then Clint nudges his arm and nods in her direction, and Sam's and Steve's eyes fall on her at the same time. She lifts her hand, waving her fingers, and Steve gets this _smile_ on his face as Sam laughs. He hangs up the call, keeps their eyes locked as she drops his phone into his pocket and jogs across the street to her, and she sets the payphone down and steps out of the booth as he makes his way over to her, Sam and Clint watching them from where they're still standing. It's stupid, really, but she thinks he looks even better than she remembers in his civvies.

It's ridiculous how much she's missed him.

"Where have you been?" he asks, glancing over her as if he's still not entirely sure if she's really here.

"I've just been here and there, doing this and that." He laughs, shaking his head. "They're pretty boring stories, to be honest."

"Yeah, I'll bet." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. "How long are you in town for?"

His voice is even, casual, but she can tell that he's… anxious, almost, waiting for her answer. "Well, I guess that depends on how long Maria wants me as a roommate," she says, smiling as the realization cross his features. "And if I've been told correctly, that means we'll be neighbors."

He lets out another laugh, and okay, she's kind of in love with the sound. "Well, can I take my new neighbor out for a cup of coffee?"

"Isn't it a bit late for breakfast?"

"Better late than never, right?" he asks, and she smiles because she knows he's talking about more than just coffee.


	5. Steve/Natasha - guy and a baby (gif)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock reads 6:30 and James is usually getting out of bed around now, with Tatiana waking up shortly after.
> 
> Of course her kids would be early risers like their dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13...?  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **prompt:** (gif below)

She's not actually on maternity leave, especially since she's passed the typical three months. She just doesn't take as many assignments anymore unless she's absolutely needed (same goes with Steve) and sometimes Maria takes her place as Pepper's assistant when Natasha can't.

The perks of being best friends with the boss, you know?

Like yesterday, when Maria went to a meeting across the city with Pepper because James has had a cold for the past two days and Natasha didn't want to leave Steve with a one year old and a sick three year old. Not because she didn't think he could handle it on his own, but she'd rather him not have to if she can help it. And James isn't really sick anymore, just has a runny nose, so that just means he has more energy to expend and they have to keep their eyes on both him and Tatiana at all times. At least when they're together, they can trade off and it won't be that much of a hassle when they need to prep their meals. Plus, they get to spend more time as a family and they've always made a great team, you know?

Steve is up before her, leaning back against his pillows as he's sketching, which is nothing new. He's almost always up before her.

(What? She loves sleeping in.)

"That better not be me that you're drawing, Rogers," she mumbles, though she's just teasing and he chuckles because he knows this. She yawns, stretching her entire body out and then sitting herself up against the pillows. "How long do you think we have?"

"Not long," he admits. Yeah, he's probably right. The clock reads 6:30 and James is usually getting out of bed around now, with Tatiana waking up shortly after.

Of course her kids would be early risers like their dad.

So she just leans her head against Steve's shoulder and closes her eyes again, listening to Steve's pencil scraping against the pad as he continues sketching. It's something she's come to love since before they had James and Tatiana, before they got together, even, because they would share motel rooms after finishing assignments and she would find him awake and sketching. He can't do it as often anymore because now most of their time is spent chasing after the kids, but he still has these early mornings to do so and she's glad.

A few minutes later, however, they hear the soft footsteps of James getting out of bed.

Steve grins, kisses her hair and whispers, "Three… two…"

"Good morning!" James exclaims, bursting through their bedroom door, which they keep halfway open, anyway, for exactly this purpose. The kid runs around the bed and grabs onto Steve's outstretched hands, letting his dad pull him up and toss him onto the bed between them, making him laugh like crazy.

"Calm down a little, James," Steve scolds gently. "You're going to wake your sister."

He gives him a funny look. "But she's already awake," he says, like his daddy is so silly for now knowing this.

Natasha just grins. Steve lets out a laugh, setting his sketchpad and pencil aside. "Well, then I'll be right back," he says, ruffling James's hair, then slipping into his slippers and heading out the bedroom to Tatiana's nursery.

"Come here," Natasha says, pulling James up and giving him a sloppy kiss to his cheek, which makes him start laughing again, twisting out of her grasp. She gasps, pretending to be hurt by this, but then James smiles and launches himself into her arms, half-knocking the wind out of her in doing so. "Mommy kind of needs to breathe, kiddo," she laughs.

James shifts until he's sitting more comfortably beside her, tucked under her arm, and she kisses his hair like she always does.

"What was Daddy drawing?" he asks, tugging the duvet to bring the sketchpad closer because it's clearly too far for him to reach unless he crawls over there. She can't tell if this makes him a clever kid or a lazy one, or both, but whatever.

"I don't know," Natasha admits.

James sets the sketchpad in his lap and flips it open. Steve has never had any real qualms with people seeing his sketches, especially not his own kids.

"Look, it's us!" he exclaims.

And yeah, it definitely is them. It's a rough sketch, but it's pretty clear that it's supposed to be her playing with James and Tatiana on the floor, probably of their den where the kids usually play. James turns the page, onto a sketch of him and Tatiana, then another of the three of them, and then one of just her and James and one of just her and Tatiana. Natasha isn't surprised in the slightest, not even as the next sketches are of just her. He's been drawing her for a few years now, obviously even before the kids were born, and she's always where his mind wanders. There are a lot of sketches of her just smiling, drawn at different angles, but it's the last sketch – the one he started this morning – that makes her pause.

"You're even prettier here, Mommy," James says, lifting the sketchpad a little higher.

It's a sketch of her in her wedding dress, her hair up in a braided crown and a canopy of flowers draping around her like the one they'd had for the reception. _She_ hasn't even seen her wedding dress in a while, or looked at photos recently, but somehow she knows the details are perfect.

"Did you really wear this, Mommy?" James asks.

"Sure did, kiddo," she tells him. "This was my wedding dress, from the day your Daddy and I got married. You were almost one."

He tilts his head back to look up at her, eyes wide and sparkling. She can tell he wants to ask something, but then they hear Steve's voice and look to see him walking through the door, holding Tatiana with one arm as he holds open a cookbook with the other, reading the ingredients out loud to her. It's cute, the way her eyes are wide and totally focused on whatever's on the page, like she's actually paying very close attention to whatever Steve's telling her, and Steve meets Natasha's eyes and grins like he knows what she's thinking.

"I was just reading to Tatiana how to make today's breakfast," he tells them, and as soon as Tatiana sees her mother, she squeals and reaches for her. Natasha takes her from Steve, peppering her cheek with kisses and making her giggle like crazy. "Want to help me make some crepes for breakfast, buddy?" Steve asks James, ruffling his hair again.

"Yeah!" he exclaims, springing onto his feet and making the mattress jump. Tatiana claps her hands, trying to bounce in Natasha's arms.

Steve moves to help James off the bed, but then Natasha says, "Wait," and he looks at her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She sets a hand against his cheek and brings their lips together, and Tatiana babbles between them, shifting. "I love you," she says once they part.

"I love you, too," he says, voice a little gruff. Natasha suppresses a smirk.

Then James motions for Steve to come closer, leans over to whisper in his ear, even though it's still loud enough for both of them to hear him as he says, "Mommy really loves your picture of her."

"My…" His eyes catch his open sketchpad still on the bed, and he gives her this smile. "It hardly compares to the real thing."

"Well, you can have a proper, thorough look later," she says, voice nonchalant, though her smile only grows when she sees his eyes widen slightly, catching her meaning.

"Did you mean your wedding dress?" James asks, confused.

"Yeah, buddy, that's what she meant," Steve answers for her, and Natasha lets out a laugh.


	6. Steve/Natasha - "Is there anything real about you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's gotten hurt for way worse reasons than having crazy good sex with her boyfriend, so she thinks she can overlook a bruise or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** (765): If u ever apologize to me for "too rough" sex again I will suspend ur all-access pass to my vagina indefinitely ([from here](http://katiefullr.tumblr.com/post/88162574758/texts-from-the-cold-war))
> 
> Also based off of Tony saying, "Is there anything real about you?" to Natasha in _Iron Man 2_. And I… don't really know what this is. Sorry?

There's a bruise on her side that hurts like hell whenever she twists her torso too far in either direction, and yeah, there's definitely a bit of a bump on her head from how hard it hit the wall, but honestly, this is kind of the best she's ever felt being a little battered and bruised.

Steve sees it a different way.

It's no secret she can take a little pain, alright? She's not some masochist that _likes_ it or anything, but whatever. She's good at not minding it, and she's gotten hurt for way worse reasons than having crazy good sex with her boyfriend, so she thinks she can overlook a bruise or two if they happen to be too wrapped up in what they're doing to pay attention to furniture or anything. And it's not like she doesn't understand why he freaks out a little every time, or that she doesn't find it as sweet as it is exasperating. He hates when she gets hurt at all, let alone if he's partly to blame for it, and no, it's not because he thinks he needs to be taking care of her. She wouldn't be with him if he felt she needed looking after.

He just likes taking care of her and is really, really good at it, and she's not about to complain whenever he insists on doing so.

But apologizing for getting a little rough during sex?

Yeah, that she _will_ complain about.

Honestly, leave it Steve to make her feel any ounce of guilt over something like this. So what if he gets a little carried away and isn't totally on top of his super strength whenever they're doing it? She's not holding it against him. Actually, she's _trying_ to get him to be a little wild, get things out of system. That's kind of the whole point.

Steve won't even really look at her as they're having brunch with Pepper and Tony in the penthouse and it's starting to piss her off.

"Are you alright, Natasha?" Pepper asks when reaches over for the pitcher and winces as the movement stretches her bruise. Steve picks it up, pressing his lips together as he tops off her lemonade, and Natasha resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'm fine," she promises, looking pointedly at Steve, and he gives her this unconvinced expression.

Seriously, she _will_ slap him pretty soon.

"Are you sure? Because you're looking a little worse for wear," Pepper admits. "Did you maybe overdo it at the gym or something?"

"Oh, it was probably a much more pleasurable activity closer to home than that."

Tony gives her that proud little smile as he takes a bite off of a strip of bacon, looking very much like a little kid that got caught red-handed and likes it, and Natasha isn't sure if she's annoyed or amused. She's honestly leaning a little more towards being amused, because seriously, at least _someone_ other than her isn't seeing the bruises as such a bad thing for this situation. Pepper looks between them, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but then she meets Tony's eyes and he raises his eyebrows expectantly and this seems to make it click.

"Oh. _Oh_ , you're like that from… right." She lets out a laugh, and Tony kisses her hair then takes another bite of bacon. "Well, never mind. Clearly you're fine."

"Yup," she agrees, meeting Steve's eyes. "Clearly I'm fine."

"I bruised you _again_ , Natasha," he reminds. Tony coughs, loudly. "Maybe you don't mind, but I do."

"Why?" Honestly, she wants to know. "If this is because I'm getting hurt, need I remind you that it's in the middle of us having sex? Because I think every part of me is a little distracted with other things while that's happening."

"Jesus," Tony mutters. Pepper presses her lips together, trying not to laugh.

Steve blinks at her, as if a little surprised by her words. "No, it's not…" He lets out a breath, actually grinning, and it's stupid that's all that needs to happen for her to be less pissed at him. This whole thing is a little stupid, really. "If I thought it was because I was hurting you and you didn't like it, you know I'd stop."

" _And_ there goes my appetite," Tony sighs, his fork clattering against the island counter as he tosses it dramatically.

He gets ignored.

"I know how you are about your body," Steve says, setting a hand over her knee and squeezing it lightly. "You're a hell of a lot more confident about all of your scars now, but I know it still bothers you sometimes and I don't like having any part in that."

She blinks slowly, not saying anything at first. She… really hadn't been expecting that.

"That's what this has been about?"

He nods a little, lifting the hand off of her knee to push his fingers through her hair, and she lets out a breath.

"You're beautiful." He says this simply, easily, like it should be obvious, but also like he just really wants to say it. That actually seems right. He compliments her all the time, not just on her looks but on everything, not as if these parts of her surprises him or anything, but like he's just making sure she still hears it. "I know looks aren't everything. You're so much more than just a beautiful face, you know? But…" He shrugs a little, smiling a little wider. "I just don't want you to have a chance to doubt it, or have any reasons to think you aren't."

She's not crying, but her eyelashes dot with tears when she blinks a few times and she laughs when Pepper whispers, " _Whoa_."

"Come here," Natasha mutters, and Steve chuckles as she pulls him in for a kiss.

"Okay, yeah, wow," Tony says after a moment. "I'm happy for you two, I really am, but _that_ "—he gestures at them, even though they've obviously stopped kissing by now—"is as far as you two are going to get while you're up here, alright?"

"Why? It's not like we haven't already gotten to your guest bathroom," Natasha says, grinning as Tony pretends to throw up.

"Alright, I love you both, but the confessions stop there, okay?" Pepper interrupts. "Now, who wants apple pie?"

"I'll help you with the dishes," Steve offers.

He presses a kiss to Natasha's temple, just because he wants to, and she smiles and watches as he helps Pepper gather everyone's plates and utensils and then follows her to the sink. She takes a sip of her lemonade, but Tony's sort of just _looking_ at her and she knows he wants to say something, so she says, "Just spit it out, Tony."

"Spit what out? I don't have…" She raises her eyebrows and he makes a face. "Alright, yeah, I have a little bit of a comment."

"So comment."

He shrugs a little, crumpling his napkin before tossing it on the kitchen island, probably just for the sake of doing something for a second instead of talking. "I just wanted to say that you two seem happy." She blinks, surprised, and he meets her eyes. "I'm happy about that."

"You wanted to say that you're happy that we're happy?"

"Yeah," he admits, giving her this soft smile. "You two… I can tell that it's real, you know? And I want that for you. You deserve it." Making a face, he adds, "Despite everything I do or say suggesting the contrary."

She laughs a little, but then she says, "He's the most real thing I've ever felt," and Tony smiles like he knows exactly what she means.


	7. Steve/Natasha - blanket fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You just want to keep the fort up for yourself.”
> 
> “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17ish?  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** (303): we fucked the fort apart but we’ll rebuild it after we get some drinks.

Babysitting is… well, she kind of totally loves it, and it surprises the hell of her every time, but whatever. Maybe she loves it as much as she does because Nikki is such a sweetheart and Natasha will take any chance she gets at some quality time with her. Which is pretty often, since Pepper and Tony are always being invited to some charity or benefit thing, and because they want to keep Nikki as far away from "all the public crap" (Tony's words, obviously) for as long they can, they'd rather her stay at the penthouse with Natasha and Steve.

That's the other thing she loves about babysitting—watching Steve with Nikki.

The girl adores him, obviously, and it's no surprise at all that he's awesome with her. He makes her giggle like crazy and sings whatever she asks him to and always finds new recipes for snacks or desserts that she can help him with in the kitchen.

Tonight their project was sugar cookies, and Steve brought up food coloring and royal icing and the two of them rummaged through the sweets in the pantry so they had plenty of toppings to decorate with. Pepper is probably _not_ going to appreciate them stuffing her daughter with sugar before dinner, but whatever. The girl isn't a particularly picky eater and won't even pout or anything if her parents tell her that she's reached her sugar limit for the day, or just don't want her eating junk at the moment, so Natasha thinks the girl can indulge a little for tonight. Plus, it's totally adorable to watch her sort of eying Steve when she reaches for a marshmallow or M &M and then light up when Steve tells her to go for it.

Nikki iced a cookie for every one of her aunts and uncles, and her parents, of course, and then one for "Grandpa Nick" (definitely Tony's doing, because she used to just call him Nick at first, and the fact that Nick lets her get away with this is one of the greatest things Natasha's ever heard).

Natasha's taking a bite out of one of her trial cookies—because the girl is as neurotic as both of her parents and _did not_ want to give anyone a cookie she felt she messed up on—when Steve walks back into the living room. He gets this grin on his face when he sees her, because she's still sitting underneath the blanket fort Nikki wanted them to make.

(Yeah, Pepper will _definitely_ not appreciate this, either.)

"Well, she's definitely out," he announces, ducking under a blanket to sit beside her.

"She fell asleep?" It's only nine, and Pepper and Tony usually stay up with her later than this, so it's weird that she'd crash already.

"Yeah, I found her passed out in the middle of her room, so I moved her to her bed and turned off the light." He grins again, reaching over to brush the crumbs off of the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "You're making a mess."

"Bigger than the mess we already made?" He chuckles and she stuffs the rest of the cookie in her mouth, licks her lips after she's swallowed. "Pepper's going to kill us."

"That's a _bit_ of an exaggeration, but…" He glances around. "Yeah, we should probably start cleaning up."

"Later," she says, lying herself on her back. He raises his eyebrows. "What? Nikki might wake up again, and she'll be upset that we cleaned up her fort, and then we'll probably have to rebuild it, anyway. We'll just do what we always do and start cleaning up when Tony texts us that they're on their way home."

"You just want to keep the fort up for yourself."

"Shut up."

He laughs and moves to lie beside her, propped up on his elbow. "I think it's cute," he says, probably only half teasing. She glares at him, but he just grins because he knows she doesn't mean it. It's quiet for a few moments, but it's nice, too, because they've kind of been going non-stop all night because of Nikki, and she was pretty sure they'd be at it for another hour or two until Tony and Pepper got home. He smiles, reaching up to brush her hair back. "I hope you know how amazing you are with Nikki," he says. "She loves you."

She lets out a laugh. "Trust me, she loves you more. You're better at playing with her than I am."

"You're really good at it," he insists, his settling over her hip, because it kind of just always ends up there and she loves it. "She loves being with you, and she's always trying to be like you, too. She told me she wants red hair to be more like you and Pepper."

"Liar," she says, except it comes out in this sort of whisper, because _shit_ , that's actually really adorable.

And she _has_ noticed Nikki trying to copy her, sometimes. Tony's probably _thrilled_ about that.

"You're great with kids," Steve goes on, smoothing his thumb over the skin above the waistband of her yoga pants. "You're going to be a great mother someday."

"Who said I'm going to be mother?"

He chuckles, shaking his head, and she loves that they can tease each other about things like this. They've talked about moving into a place of their own, getting married and having kids and the future before, and no, they're not in any rush to get any of that done _right now_ , but she honestly thinks she'd feel ready if they happened, anyway. Mostly, she just loves that she has the chance to have these things for herself, to build this life for herself when it hadn't even been an option before, and the fact that she gets to share this with Steve?

It's kind of crazy, really, when she stops to think about it.

She pulls him closer and presses their lips together, and he squeezes her hip a little, kissing her back. They're gentle at first, lazy and content, but his fingers are tracing idly over her hip, digging into her skin with just enough pressure that it kind of drives her crazy, and she can feel him as she shifts beneath him, brushing against where he's hard for her.

"Steve," she murmurs against his lips, kissing him a little harder, a little dirtier, and he makes this noise from the back of his throat.

Her hand comes between them, grasping at his belt, and he mutters, "Wait, 'Tasha." Her hand brushes over the front of his jeans and he pulls away. "Nikki might—"

"She's asleep," she reminds, even though _she_ was the one that'd said she could wake up, but whatever. They'll be careful to listen for her, and really, it's not like this is the first time they've fucked with someone else in the other room. She hooks a leg around his hips, pressing him closer. "But if it really bothers you that much, I can take care of myself."

" _No_ ," he says lowly, eyes dark, and she actually bites her lower lip a little to keep from smiling too widely as she pops the front of his jeans undone.

He nearly _growls_ when she grasps him, then lets out this throaty laugh when she leans up and whispers, " _Hush_ ," into his ear, shifting his hips against her hand. _God_ , Tony and Pepper may actually kill them if they find out they had sex with their daughter just down the hallway.

Steve's head falls to her shoulder and he murmurs, "Natasha," with his breath warm against her neck.

"I need you to be inside me, okay?"

"Yeah," he breathes, and she tugs a blanket over them as he pushes her yoga pants and panties down her legs, she really _does_ care about the possibility of Nikki walking in on them. She bites her lower lip, trying to be quiet, but then Steve sinks into her and she lets out this pretty loud moan that has Steve kissing her to stifle her. " _Hush_ ," he whispers into her ear, and she lets out a soft laugh at first, until he angles his hips and brushes against a spot that has her arching her back, tugging at a blanket and sending a wall of their fort down.

Damn. They'll have to fix that before Nikki wakes up.


	8. Steve/Natasha - au. Steve's the boss and Nat's his secretary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he really can't tell if she's flirting with him or not, but that's kind of their thing now.
> 
> Another one of their things is that Natasha tries to get him to ask out every decent woman in the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~2,400  
>  **for:** [ice326](http://ice326.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "AU: Steve's the boss and Nat's his secretary. In the office, obvious UST for them."

"You know, if you asked out Kristin from Statistics, she'd probably say yes."

Steve lets out a chuckle, leaning back in his chair as Natasha tilts her head at him, smiling. She looks so comfortable perched on the corner of his desk whenever they have lunch like this, like this is _her_ office rather than his. It might as well be. She's in here almost as much as he is, and she has a key, so even if he wanted to lock the door she could still come and go whenever she pleased. Not that he minds any of this, though. She's his secretary, yeah, and it's important that they stay connected, but he mostly just enjoys her company, too. She's pretty hilarious and refreshing to be around, and has this teasing personality, and sometimes he really can't tell if she's flirting with him or not, but that's kind of their thing now.

Another one of their things is that Natasha tries to get him to ask out every decent woman in the building.

"Natasha," he laughs.

"What? It doesn't hurt to try, right?" She crosses one leg over the other, and _nope_ , he _so_ does not look where her skirt rides up her thigh a little.

(Except, you know, he totally does. She's his employee and a good friend, and he'd _never_ objectify her, but… he's only human.)

"You know I have no time," he reminds. "I'm too busy."

"Yeah, and _you_ know I'm the one that basically controls your schedule." She twirls her yogurt spoon at him for emphasis. "Say the word, Captain, and I can squeeze in a date night."

He chuckles at the nickname. (He can't even remember how it started, but now it's just something people around the office tend to call him, and she'll always get that proud little smirk on her face whenever it happens.) "I appreciate your concern, but…" He shrugs his shoulders.

"You are endlessly frustrating." She leans over to meet his eyes and he stares right back at her rather than down the dip of her blouse. "I hope you know that."

Oh, he does.

... ...

"Steve," Natasha says, and he raises his eyebrows as she walks – _struts_ – into his office.

"You're in a good mood," he notes, curious.

"I am, because I have good news for you." She sits herself on the edge of his desk and he leans back in his chair to let her know that she has his attention. "Remember how I've been trying to set Pepper and Tony up basically ever since I was hired?" He laughs and nods. Yeah, those two have been the topic of at least half of their lunchtime conversations. Natasha likes to claim that she isn't much of a gossip, but she is, at least when it comes to her close friends. "Well, they finally went out for drinks and then went home together."

"They went…" He's rather impressed, actually. Those two are always bickering, though, so really, it's not that big of a surprise. "How is that good news for me, exactly?"

"Well, I was right about them the same way I was right about Bruce and Betty, and Clint and Bobbi, so my intuition with this stuff is pretty spot on." She smiles at him and, yeah, he catches on to where this is headed. "Let me set you up on a date."

"Natasha," he says.

"That cute girl from Accounting seems really into you," she goes on, as if she hadn't heard him. "You know, the one with the lip piercing—Laura? Lucy?"

"Lilian," he corrects, and she snaps her fingers, nodding. "Yeah, I'm not really ready for that just yet. And I'm not sure why this is so important to you," he admits, raising one eyebrow. She tilts her head. "I mean, it's not like you have a thriving social life yourself."

"That's because my boss is always busting my ass." He chuckles. "But it's not so bad. At least he's good company, right?"

"I'll bet he really enjoys your company, too."

"He better," she replies, and he smiles and glances away.

... ...

It's not unusual that they're one of the last ones out of the building. On average, they spend twelve, maybe thirteen hours here a day, fourteen or fifteen on particular grueling days where they've fallen behind or have so much on their plate that there's no easier way to space things out and tackle them accordingly. It's not just the two of them that put in these long hours, either. It's his whole team – sometimes the entire top floor – that puts in the extra hours of work, and to hell if you think he doesn't appreciate every one of them for it.

It's already a quarter passed 10:00, and they'll be leaving soon, now that they've finalized the new outline for this presentation that's supposed to be ready in two days. It was a lot to ask of everyone, but they pulled through and they know it'll be worth it now that everything flows.

He's in his office retyping his notes when Natasha lets herself in. "Hi," he greets, not looking up. He doesn't mean to be rude, he's just focused.

"Why are you still working?"

He chuckles. "I'm almost done. You don't have to wait for me."

"Yes I do, because you're driving me home. I'm not getting on the subway like this," she informs, and that grabs his attention. He looks up, and then regrets doing so as he sees that her white blouse is soaked through with coffee and she's currently working the buttons of it undone. He catches a flash of skin and then spins his chair away.

_Shit._

"Sorry, but your office is the only one that doesn't have glass walls, and it's a lot closer than the bathroom, so…" She sounds apologetic enough, but he _knows_ her, and he can hear this teasing undertone in her voice.

"Right," he says, mostly to himself. "Did you need to borrow a shirt or something? Or run to get one?"

"Well, I only need to be here until you're finished, so if you want to hurry things up…"

"Right," he says again. _God_ , he sounds like an doesn't move right away, either, and that makes him feel even more like an idiot.

He needs to do _something_.

"Here, at least…" He turns around, tugging open one of the bottom desk drawers and pulling out a folded dress shirt. Yeah, he keeps a spare change of clothes. Not because he actually thinks he'll need them, but Natasha's kind of gotten him in the habit of being prepared. She sort of stashes things around his car and his office and his desk and it's just something he finds himself doing, too. He pulls open another drawer and pulls out a travel packet of wet wipes. "Until you can get home and shower," he says a little needlessly.

"What would I do without you?" Her voice is teasing, but the smile on her face lets him know that she's being genuine, too.

He smiles in return. The feeling is pretty damn mutual, actually.

... ...

Sharon from the IT department is upstairs installing the new routers when she asks him out for coffee.

He's not even sure if it's in _that_ way, because the entire thing is taking longer than he was told it would and everyone was only working off of the network from their phones, and she could tell he was trying not to be frustrated. The fact that Natasha was sitting in on a meeting for him across the city wasn't helping, either. It's not even because he can'tfunction without her (even though, yes, times like this just reiterate how amazing an assistant she is). There's just something about being around her that's really calming. He just feels more relaxed with her, you know? And it's not that he isn't appreciative of Sharon's efforts, but he's not the kind of person that will forget about work for a bit even if he's out of the office.

The fact that hearing the word _coffee_ makes him think of Natasha in his dress shirt, curled up in his passenger seat and teasing him about the fact that almost all of his radio presets are oldies stations, probably means something, too.

Not that he tells all of this Sharon this when he politely declines her offer, but still.

... ...

"You, my friend, are an _idiot_."

Steve lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Surprisingly enough, I can't say that I disagree this time."

Sam raises his eyebrows, turning to Bucky, who shrugs. "Doesn't matter how much he's changed since we were kids—still doesn't know how to deal with women," he says. Steve gives him a look and Bucky raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You _don't_ ," he insists, and okay, as much as Steve does enjoy having lunch out of the office with Bucky and Sam like this every once in a while, he's missing Natasha's company right now. That's kind of the whole point of this conversation. It's just _different_ when it's her pushing, you know?

"Look," Sam says, hitting Steve's shoulder. "Sharon is the first girl in how long to actually ask you out, and you turn her down?"

"I'm not ready," Steve admits. "Maybe I'm not the kind of guy that should be getting asked out. Maybe I'm just not meant to _go out_ with anyone."

Sam laughs. "You're _the_ guy women want to ask out, man—or want to get asked out by, I guess. Women say they don't want old school—and yeah, the misogynist part is what they don't like. But they still want to be treated like a lady by a gentleman who'll protect them, but also respect that they don't _need_ to be protected, and that's you."

Steve looks at Bucky.

"If he meant what I _think_ he meant then yeah, the guy's got a pretty damn good point."

As usual, Steve barely understands either of them.

Bucky claps a hand against Steve's shoulder. "The problem isn't that women aren't interested in you," he explains. "It's that they know _your_ interest is elsewhere. Women can tell these things. Actually, at this point, everyone in New York can tell."

Steve glances away, and, as if to make their point even clearer, his eyes almost immediately fall on Natasha. He feels like he should be at least a little surprised, but he's not. He watches as she's crossing the street with Maria towards their office building, head tipped back a little as the two of them are laughing about something. He's seen her laugh, of course, but it feels different watching her laugh with Maria. It shouldn't, because, while they don't act terribly affectionate with each other around the office, everyone knows that they're best friends. He's never actually _seen_ them together outside of work, and it makes him wonder what Natasha's really like when she's not obligated to spend time with him.

(It wouldn't be the first time he's thought this.)

... ...

Natasha's in his chair when he comes back from his afternoon meeting, her eyes closed and her hands folded over her stomach, her curls pushed over one shoulder. He can't tell if she looks more tired or relaxed like this, but then her eyelids fluttered open as she mumbles, "Took you long enough," and yeah, she's obviously tired. He chuckles, walks over to sit on the corner where she usually sits herself, and she shifts so that she can stretch her legs, propping her heels in his lap, one ankle crossed over the other. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," she replies. "I just needed a breather. It's as if every scheduled meeting of yours for the next two months needed to be moved, so I had work the times out with your existing commitments that."

"I'm sorry," he tells her, meaning it.

"Well, it's not like you made them reschedule. Besides, it's sort of my _job_ , so I really shouldn't be complaining."

And he knows she's teasing him again, but at the same time, her words are a little unsettling. He thinks about seeing her with Maria, thinks about the fact that she has entire part of her life that he's not part of and that she knows so much more about him than he does about her. It shouldn't bother him as much as it does, because she's right. It _is_ her job.

He just isn't sure if she'd still be interested in his personal life if she didn't have to be.

"Hey," she says, grabbing his attention, and it's cute, the face she makes at him. "Why didn't you tell me Sharon asked you out?"

"Oh." He glances away, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. "It wasn't even anything big. It just happened while she was up here installing the new routers."

"That wasn't an answer to my question."

"I didn't think it was that big of a deal," he says, and… okay, maybe he's lying, just a little bit. She gives him a look and he chuckles, setting his hand over her ankle, and maybe he's just imagining it, but he swears he sees her tense ever so slightly. "Of course it is, because I'm your boss."

Natasha laughs a little. "No, it's a big deal because it's you, Steve." She presses her lips together and then smiles. "You're kind of my favorite person."

"Yeah?" he asks.

She meets his eyes. "I'm not saying it again."

He chuckles, smoothing his thumb over the bone of her ankle. "You're my favorite, too, Natasha," he says, and the smile she gets?

That's also his favorite.


	9. Steve/Natasha - puppy and kitten (photo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d talked about getting a dog only once before, when James was three and asked for one just because there’d been a dog on the page of his coloring book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **prompt:** [this interview](http://chrisxscarlett.tumblr.com/post/95787405227/chris-scarlett-thought-the-interviewers-fiance) \+ photo (below)

They'd talked about getting a dog only once before, when James was three and asked for one just because there'd been a dog on the page of his coloring book.

He'd forgotten all about it almost as quickly as he'd mentioned it, but she and Steve did come back to that for a bit after James had gone down for a nap. It didn't surprise her at all that Steve thought it was a perfect idea, and yeah, she gets that it'd help teach James responsibility and everything, so they were going to wait until he was actually old enough to, you know, understand what that meant and could participate in taking care of one. Plus, she wasn't so sure about having a puppy around Tatiana, who'd barely been one at the time.

 _She'd_ been under the impression they'd wait until James was in middle school, at least.

Then they found Ginger.

And they quite literally _found_ her, too, or at least Steve did, because it was early December and snowing, and he and James had just gone outside to start shoveling the driveway. Well, Steve was going to shovel the driveway, but James was eight and wanted to help his dad out as much as possible, so he was out there, too, and they told her they'd started hearing this whimpering sound. Ginger had been hiding out underneath a car parked at the curb right in front of their house, freaked out by the people moving around her but too terrified to actually budge. Somehow Steve had coaxed her out of her hiding place, and Natasha knew as soon as she saw James carefully wrap the little puppy inside his old baby blanket that, if they couldn't find the owner, this little girl would be here to stay. _Maybe_ she could've resisted James if she'd tried, but trying to say no to James, Tatiana, _and_ Steve?

That was just physically impossible for her. It still is, honestly.

But, anyway, they took Ginger to get checked and did what they could to try and find the owner – which James was really into because, he'd told her, as much as he wanted to keep the dog, he'd want it with its real family more if it had one. To hell if you think that didn't make her tear up.

After a month of no response, they'd found themselves filling out the necessary paperwork to formally adopt the pup, which Steve names Ginger.

Maybe it's stupid, but sometimes it's hard to remember their family _without_ her.

She and the kids spend hours _literally_ running after each other, nearly giving Natasha heart attacks when they're jumping around and bumping into things but not actually knocking anything over. They've never actually broken anything, and they're pretty damn graceful, especially for kids, and avoid disasters pretty easily, but still. It's kind of really awesome to hear their laughter and Ginger's little barks echoing through the house, and it's also pretty easy to get them to go down for their naps because of all the energy they burn off, so that's a bonus. She and Steve take Ginger with them for their runs while the kids are in school, and Ginger likes to just curl up with them when Steve's sketching or she's reading.

Anyway, Steve was picking the kids from their play date (well, they're too old to call them _play dates_ , but whatever) at Tony and Pepper's, so she took Ginger to the park, sipped on a pumpkin spice latte and played fetch with her for a while and then headed back when she knew they'd be home.

"Hey," Steve greets her as they're walking through the front door, kissing her cheek. There's something about his expression that's a little off.

"What?" she asks.

He gets this grin on his face. "Don't get mad."

She raises her eyebrows, but Steve just takes her hand and leads them towards the kitchen, Ginger sniffing the air as she follows behind them. And really, Natasha isn't sure what she's expecting, but somehow, part of her isn't all that surprised when she sees James and Tatiana sitting at the kitchen table, Tatiana cradling a little kitten in her hands.

"Mom, look who we found," James says, voice somehow excited but also even, obviously not trying to startle the poor thing, which is shaking a little.

Natasha glances at Steve, who still hasn't stopped grinning, and _gosh_ , she already knows where this is heading.

"We rescued her, Mommy," Tatiana announces proudly.

Ginger walks over to James's chair, hopping up and onto his lap when he motions for her to, and Ginger's eyes are totally trained on the kitten, but Natasha's not really worried that she'll try to lunge at the thing. Ginger's still young and not fully trained, but she just wouldn't do that.

"You should've seen how scared she looked, Mom," James tells her. "We found her in this box of empty jelly jars on the side of the road."

Tatiana's eyes light up. "We can call her Jelly!"

James smiles widely, and okay, Natasha's heart totally swells a little at that. "That's so cute," Steve murmurs into her ear, and well, yes that is, but…

"We can't just keep her, you know that, right, sweetie?" Natasha reminds gently, because, _hell_ , it's like déjà vu, watching Tatiana cradling the little kitten close to her chest the same way James had held Ginger that night they'd found her. "We have to see if she has owners first, because I'll bet they miss her a lot."

"But we're not going to let anything happen to her, right, Mommy?"

"No, of course not," Natasha says, combing her fingers through Tatiana's hair. "And I can count on you and James to take extra special care of her, right?"

"Definitely, Mom," James answers, and Tatiana bobs her head in agreement, beaming at her brother.

And, other than for dinner, Tatiana literally doesn't let go of the thing for the entire night, even as she dozes off for a few seconds more and more frequently towards the end of _Bolt_ (James's pick for their Saturday Movie Night, and strangely fitting to their situation right now – which is probably exactly why he picked it, the sneaky little guy). Once the credits start rolling, Steve gently takes the kitten from Tatiana – who begins to protest, but it just too tired to – and Natasha goes upstairs to help the kids get ready for bed. And really, Natasha should've known better than to steal glances at Tatiana cuddling with the kitten during the movie, because the girl looked _so happy_ just holding her and would keep glancing down during the movie as if watching for the kitten's reaction. It was adorable, and she knows it'll be _heartbreaking_ if, this time, they actually are able to get her back to her original owners.

Even if they were to get Tatiana a different cat now, she'd still think about this one.

(Is she a horrible person for hoping they don't find any owners?)

They're both out as soon as their heads hit their pillows, practically, and Natasha kisses their cheeks and leaves their doors open a little before heading back downstairs. Steve's already shut off the TV and folded all of the blankets except for the one draped over the couch.

Ginger and the kitten are fast asleep, curled up next to each other with Ginger's little paw over the kitten, and _fuck_ , that's really cute.

Steve smiles at her, walks over and slants his lips over hers, kissing her gently. "Am I in trouble?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, and he chuckles because he knows she's teasing. "Seriously, though, even if we don't end up adopting this kitten because we find her owners, this needs to stop or else we'll end up with a _farm_ or something." Steve smiles a little wider, and hell, he probably loves that idea. "Just… no more bringing home strays, alright?"

"I make no promises."


	10. Thor/Sif - "What is it about you that makes me still care?" (gif)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha stands when she sees Sif stepping out onto the terrace, grabs a bottle of vodka off of the coffee table and says, “I’m going to try throwing alcohol at the problem,” to Steve with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** (gif below)

She's heard of Lady Sif, of course. Not just from Thor, but from Coulson and Barton and even May.

Still, Natasha can't really connect the Lady Sif of those stories to the one standing just a few feet away from her right now. For all of the talk, all of the praise, Natasha always pictured her to be a vibrant woman, full of life and a little (okay, more than just a _little_ ) bit of danger. Right now, though, Sif seems distant and detached. Actually, Natasha's fairly certain that's exactly what she's going for. When she and the Warriors Three (as Natasha's been told they're called) arrived in New York, Sif had given Thor a short nod and walked right passed him. And Natasha knows that, while Thor's definitely been feeling more and more homesick recently, she's never seen the guy look so _sad_. There really isn't a better word to describe it.

"They should just talk."

Natasha raises her eyebrows. "Steve," she says, and he chuckles.

"What? Sometimes things can really be that simple." He combs his fingers through her hair, bringing her a little closer as he presses his lips to her temple. He likes doing that, just randomly kissing her because he feels like it, or thinks it seems like the right moment.

She kind of loves it.

"Sometimes that's all it takes with you," he points out, and she laughs but doesn't argue. That _is_ true, but she thinks it's mostly because Steve has a way with words. And it's always surprising, how the emotions just hit you, whether he's made some witty remark or a comment that makes you unravel, makes you question things.

That's why it's so impossible for her to stay mad at him. That's barely an exaggeration, too. She's tried _pretty damn hard_.

"The hard part is actually _getting_ them to talk. We already know they want to."

"We do?" Steve asks, but she knows that's not really a question. He sees it just as clearly as her.

Natasha can't say for certain what the girl's like considering they've never met before tonight, but she definitely knows that Lady Sif? She's not the kind of person that would let people talk her into doing something that she genuinely doesn't want to do. No, she probably _wasn't_ interested in attending this small party Tony's throwing for Thor – to spend time with his friends again since he misses them and he's homesick, just too stubborn to admit it – but Sif knew that this would be one of the few ways she'd definitely see Thor again.

Obviously she wants something to happen.

Natasha stands when she sees Sif stepping out onto the terrace, grabs a bottle of vodka off of the coffee table and says, "I'm going to try throwing alcohol at the problem," to Steve with a wink. Steve just chuckles. "Give us a minute and then have the Big Guy come find us."

Steve gives her a two-fingered salute and she ruffles his hair as she steps around him, just because she feels like it.

Sif has her arms resting against the railing as her eyes take in the skyline. There's a bit of a breeze, but the chill is a nice change from the warmth of the penthouse.

"Rest easy, Natasha," Sif says, still gazing over the city. "I did not come out here to seek my escape."

"Well, I did," Natasha replies, making Sif turn to look at her. "JARVIS is queueing up the karaoke selection and Tony is _god awful_ at singing."

Sif exhales a laugh.

Natasha extends the bottle of vodka and Sif stares at it, hesitating for a moment before offering her empty cup. Natasha pours a generous amount into hers and then a little into her own, and they toast to nothing in particular before downing all of it in one gulp.

They get through three more swigs each before Sif cracks a bit of a smirk. "If I did not know better, I would say you are attempting to get me drunk."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "Is that an easy thing to do?"

"For most women, it could be, perhaps," Sif considers, leaning back against the railing. "I dine alongside royals with access to the finest breweries and warriors who celebrate every battle excessively, so I am sure that my tolerance is something not to be found on most others. However," she shrugs one shoulder. "We are shown to have more similarities than differences in our physiologies in comparison to mortals. A rather surprising fact when you consider that mortal lives expire far quicker than our own, but the truth of it still remains."

Natasha nods, looking back into the penthouse. "Makes me wonder what the Big Guy will do when we're all gone," she admits.

"He will return home, welcomed with cheers and open arms, as always," Sif replies, voice bitter.

"You think he'll deserve it?"

"I have no opinion concerning Thor anymore."

Natasha tilts her head. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

Sif blinks, holding Natasha's gaze. "No, I suppose I do not," she admits, turning to look out over the skyline again. "Most days, he does not even cross my mind, but when he does…" She lets out a breath, shaking her head. "I loathe the fact that such a weakness cannot leave me be."

"You consider me a weakness?"

Sif and Natasha turn to find Thor standing on the terrace, eyes narrowed, but rather than looking angry, he looks _hurt_.

Sif stands up straighter, chin raised, but Natasha can tell that she doesn't feel nearly as pissed as she probably wants to be. "I consider anything which grants me more pain than pleasure to be a weakness, yes," she replies, though the coldness of her reply doesn't touch her eyes. "But do not fear, _Thor_." He actually flinches, that's how sharply she says his name, and the fact that it's the first time she's said it all night must only make it worse for right now. "I am not attempting to tarnish your reputation in front of your new friend."

"I do not care for my reputation," he says, stepping closer, and Steve meets Natasha's eyes from where he's standing in the terrace doorway. "I am much more concerned about what has come between us."

"There is no longer any _us_ for something to come between! _You_ made sure of that when you chose to return here," she snaps, shoving her cup against his chest as she attempts to walk around him, though he grabs onto her arm and she turns to look sharply at him over her shoulder. "Release me, Thor," she says slowly.

"You are capable of escape if you wished it," he challenges. She narrows her eyes but doesn't move. "Just because I have left does not mean I do not value your care."

"You have already _lost_ the privilege of my care."

It's honestly hard for Natasha to tell which of them seems hurt more by this.

"You do not mean that," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

She lets out an empty laugh, and Natasha's sure that, had she been any other person, she would've crumpled into tears by now. Instead, Sif just shakes her head a little, another breeze passing through as she meets his eyes. "I wish to. Yet that does not seem to be enough, does it?" Thor loosens his grip, hand falling to his side, and she glances over him. "What is it about you that makes me still care?" she asks softly, more to herself than anything else. "Truthfully, I wished seeing you again would be enough for me to let go, but…"

Steve walks over to Natasha, sliding a hand over the small of her back, and they share a smile. Neither Sif nor Thor pays them any attention, though.

"You have not let go, then?" Thor asks. Slowly, she shakes her head, and the look he gets in his eyes is the most _alive_ Natasha's seen him in a long time. "Then I shall rightfully earn your care again, Sif, by any means necessary. If you will allow me to, I shall work for it. I will no longer be your weakness, but instead your strength, I swear to you."

Thor takes her hand, squeezing gently, and Steve kisses Natasha's hair as Sif says, "That is a start."


	11. Steve/Natasha - wearing his shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just wants to wash the humidity of Mumbai off and nap until Steve comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** Imagine person A of your OTP wearing nothing but a shirt or jacket of person B’s, which is baggy or oversized on them. Person B comes home to see Person A curled up on the couch asleep like this, and finds it absolutely adorable.

She's not a big cleaner.

She will when she needs to, obviously, but that's only ever after she's been reminded two or three times. It's not like she leaves garbage around or lets her dirty plates pile in the kitchen sink or anything, because that's _gross_. It's not her first instinct to dust and vacuum and wipe things down as regularly as she should, either. But considering she's only ever lived with Maria and then Steve, who're both neat freaks, it's never been a problem. And when she'd lived alone before, she wasn't at her place enough for it to get dirty, just dusty.

It's different, though – Maria's clean versus Steve's clean. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's what Natasha's noticed about them.

When she'd roomed with Maria, they cleaned almost daily, because Maria prefers being organized. With Steve, chores are calming, comfortable. They take the time every week or so that their days off align to clean the apartment thoroughly and do the laundry and all that. It's actually nice.

(If anyone could get her to find cleaning relaxing, of course it'd be Steve.)

This day was supposed to be last week, except Tony had called them in at the last minute for two separate assignments, and obviously the chores had to wait.

It isn't until she's dropping her duffle onto the floor of their bedroom that she realizes this means she doesn't have any clean clothes to come home to. Well, she _does_ , but nothing comfortable that she can sleep in, and it's already a quarter to one. She just wants to wash the humidity of Mumbai off and nap until Steve comes home, not do laundry.

"Shall I wake Miss Hill or Miss Potts and ask them if you can borrow a change of clothes for the night, ma'am?"

"Nah, don't bother them," Natasha reassures JARVIS, turning the water on and adjusting the temperature settings. "I'll just borrow Steve's shirt. He's got a few clean ones left."

"You'll borrow his undergarments, too, then?"

She grins. "I'll go without them for a night. I'm thinking Steve won't mind it all that much, right?"

"Indeed, he probably won't." That makes her laugh. "Have a good night, Natasha."

She grins a little wider but doesn't answer, knowing that JARVIS has probably already left the apartment so that she could take her bath in private. It's kind of ridiculous to know that an A.I. has more manners than most people nowadays.

She steps into the shower and closes her eyes, letting the warm water ease away the dull ache in her muscles that she always gets after an assignment. At least she didn't come home with any bruises or bullet wounds this time. Steve will be happy about that. Considering what they've lived through, missions like these are pretty small and simple. It doesn't mean that makes them _easy_ , but they're definitely a few steps down from the threats of extra-terrestrial takeover and underground terrorists attempting world domination. Not that this makes her injuries are any less alarming to Steve, but she doesn't mind when he fusses. He hates seeing _anyone_ hurt, so of course he's going to freak out whenever it's her.

When she's finished (which, okay, took a little longer than it should've, but she didn't want to turn off the hot water) she wrings her hair out and clips it up, pats herself dry with a towel and picks her clothes off of the floor as she leaves the bathroom. And yes, she's not wearing anything, but whatever. No one can see her.

She grabs one of the few shirts left in Steve's drawer – an R2D2 one Sam gifted to him for his birthday, because he and Steve had just re-watched all six Star Wars movies the week before. It's kind of ridiculously large on her, because she's smaller than him in height to begin with, and of course he's got those broad shoulders and all that muscle.

Not that she's got any complaints.

It's 1:30 when she sits on the couch. She and Steve don't always wait up for each other, but his flight lands in an hour, so it's not that big of a deal. Besides, she's not that tired.

At least, she _thought_ she wasn't, but then she falls asleep after a few reruns of _Friends_ and wakes up just before the elevator chimes open.

She yawns a little and feels like she needs a stretch, but she's comfortable just being curled up Steve's shirt like this, so she just props herself up on her elbow and watches as Steve rounds the corner into the living room. He gets this soft smile on his face as soon as he sees her.

"Did I wake you?" He pulls the strap of his duffle over his head and drops it onto the floor.

She shakes her head. "I was up just as you were getting home."

"That sounds like I woke you up." She chuckles, closing her eyes, then opening them again as moves to kneel in front of her. "You look adorable, by the way."

"Shut up," she laughs.

He chuckles, too, but still means it when he says, "You do. And why do my clothes always look better on you than on me?"

"Maybe that just means you should stop wearing them altogether." He laughs softly. (She's not entirely kidding.) "Come here," she says, grasping onto his jacket, and he leans forward and presses their lips together.

It's a little deeper and a little dirtier than she'd been anticipating, though. Not that she minds – at all – but it takes her a bit by surprise, even though it honestly shouldn't. They can hardly behave themselves in front of their friends when they spend each day together, much less when they're alone in their apartment and haven't seen each other in a week.

" _Steve_ ," she breathes, but the thought is lost as he combs his fingers through her hair and kisses her harder.

"Missed you," he murmurs against her lips.

Yeah, she can tell.

She shifts to sit more upright, bringing him closer, their chests pressed together as he sets a hand on her thigh and squeezes gently, this soft noise coming from the back of her throat. He presses her back into the couch, moving his hips between her knees as his slides up her leg, dipping below her (his) shirt. He groans as his fingers skim over her skin and he realizes that she isn't wearing anything else underneath. He probably isn't surprised. This is hardly the first time she's worn one of his shirts before, and even the few times she's worn a bra and panties underneath, it wasn't for long once Steve saw her. She wouldn't call it a fetish, really, but he gets particularly eager whenever she's wearing something of his.

He pushes the hem of her shirt up, moving to tug it off over her head, but she pulls away and shakes her head. He pauses, giving her a slightly confused but mostly curious look, and she wraps her legs around waist and pulls him closer, leaning to whisper into his ear.

"Fuck me with it on."

He makes his noise and she bites her lower lip, smiling at him as she grasps the buckle of his belt.

"Now I'm never going to be able to wear this without thinking of you like this," he tells her, tugging at the shirt as he kisses down the column of her throat.

She lets out a laugh. That's exactly what she's going for.


	12. Steve & Tatiana - nursing his daughter through a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing could’ve prepared him for finding his daughter crying in her room alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **for:** [ArohaDickens](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ArohaDickens/pseuds/ArohaDickens)   
> **prompt:** "Steve nurses his daughter through a broken heart while Natasha considers 108 ways to make the person pay"

He's seen some awful things over the years, and while the nightmares have been few and rare since Natasha and James and Tatiana, they're still there some nights. It's only fair. You don't get to make the choices he made and get away with not being haunted by it for the rest of your life.

But nothing could've prepared him for finding his daughter crying in her room alone.

She's supposed to be at cheerleading practice. She usually gets out the same time James does from track or cross country and then he'll drive them home, or she'll get a ride from one of her teammates. James would've mentioned if Tatiana was coming home separately. Actually, _Tatiana_ would've mentioned it herself, or at the very least, anyone she might've called for a ride would've told him, so she must've gotten home by bus. He would've been fine with that, except she's home alone and _crying_ so it's obvious nothing is fine right now.

She has the TV on in her room with the volume turned up (she hates how she sounds when she cries), so she didn't hear him come in through the front door.

"Tatiana," he breathes, and she sort of squeaks in surprise.

"Dad, I…" She hiccups and he's kneeling in front of her in seconds, brushing her tears away. "I didn't know you were home."

"Neither did I," he says gently, smoothing his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

"I text James to let him know I was going home."

"After he started practice and wouldn't be able to check his phone right away?" She looks down at her lap and he combs his fingers through her hair. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, and she blinks at him through tearful eyelashes. "I'm not mad about it. Okay? I'm not mad," he tells her, because he knows, right now, she needs to hear that first.

She nods a little, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand and then tucking her hair behind her ear. _God_ , she looks so much like her mother. He probably won't ever get over that.

"Baby," he says. He hasn't called her that since she started high school and Natasha said they needed to let her grow up a little, but it just slips out.

And it must be the right thing to say, too, because Tatiana's face completely _crumples_ and she throws her arms around him. She has always, since she was little, tried to be strong and hold back when she's upset. It takes a lot to make her cry. It used to worry the hell out of him, because honestly, what kind of father did that make him if his daughter felt like she had to bottle herself up? But then Maria pointed out that he'd been like that, and so had Natasha, so it shouldn't be very surprising. Hell, he'd practically closed himself off from the world after being thawed, and then threw himself into S.H.I.E.L.D. operations so that he would have something else to focus on other than trying to move on and live his life.

If sticking her lip out and putting on a brave face is Tatiana's way of coping, he'll take it. He's definitely stubborn enough handle it.

He's not sure if he can handle _this_ , though. Tatiana is crying harder than he's seen her in years and it's breaking his heart. He's terrified that something's wrong. Well, obviously something _is_ wrong, but he's terrified that it's something he can't protect her from.

"I broke up with Nick," she whimpers out, and part of him relaxes, because now at least he knows what's going on. He can work with this.

"Tatiana," he says.

"I broke up with Nick because he had a pregnancy scare with a girl that wasn't me," she blurts out, cutting him off so quickly that it takes a second or two to actually process what she's said. He tenses entirely as her words sink in, his jaw clenching, and when Tatiana pulls back, he thinks it's because he's holding onto her too tightly.

But then he sees the expression on her face and he blinks, surprised. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes are puffy, but she's also pissed.

(He remembers the first time she pulled that face – when she was three and James accidentally ripped off the tail of her stuffed dolphin – and it made him do a double take.)

(She is _so_ her mother's daughter.)

Tatiana lets out a huff and sits back on her ankles (he's not really sure when they both ended up on the floor) as she wipes at her eyes again. He kisses her hair and runs his hand down her arm. He knows it doesn't get him anywhere, thinking what he needs to do to instill enough fear in these boys to stop hurting his daughter. Because, no, this isn't the first time she's had a bad experience with a boyfriend. It started when the very first one in middle school admitted that he'd been _talking_ with another girl. He didn't do anything, but considering they were twelve, this was big. Of course it hurt. And of course, Tatiana being Tatiana, this didn't discourage her, either. She's so much more forgiving than anyone he's ever known, but she's still smart about it, too. She won't go back to trusting someone who's crossed her, but she doesn't just cut them off, either, if they want to make amends.

He loves that she's so kind, that she never, ever gives up on people. That's why he's kind of terrified that all of these boyfriends might ruin this about her.

The worst part is that he's not sure if he can stop that, either. He can't protect her from this kind of hurt, short of preventing her from dating altogether, anyway. And while he's definitely entertained that idea, that would probably just do more harm than good.

"Did I do something wrong?" Tatiana whispers.

"No," he says automatically, pulling her close. She pushes her face into his shoulder. "No, of course you didn't."

"Really?" she asks. "Because I feel like these things always happen to me."

He presses a kiss to her hair. He _hates_ seeing her like this, and he hates that people have made her feel this way. "I know it seems like that," he tells her. "But people don't always think about how they might affect others. It's a lot easier to be selfish than to think about everyone else."

"But someone has to," she says.

He can't help but smile. Even in heartbreak, she's so concerned with doing what's right, even if it isn't what's easy. It's probably exhausting, especially at fourteen, but he loves that those're her instincts. And really, he should've known better than the think that a few boys were going to change this part of her. She's far too stubborn to let that happen.

"Yeah, someone has to," he agrees. "But it's also alright to take a break and feel whatever you need to feel. You don't have to forgive him right away."

"Trust me, I'm not going to." He grins a little, brushing her hair aside. "People really suck sometimes."

He _laughs_ , and this giggle bubbles out of her, too, as she curls herself into his side. They should probably get off the floor, but it's been a while since he's just held her like this and he doesn't want to give that up just yet (or ever, if he's being honest).

So he doesn't move, and they sit like this for a while, watching _Food Network_ with the volume still turned up. That's how Natasha and James find them a few hours later once they're both home, and the way James pulls Tatiana into a hug as soon as he sees her tells Steve that he probably heard what happened. He usually finds out about these things before him or Natasha and Steve doesn't doubt that James was probably going a little crazy, finding out what was wrong and not being able to reach Tatiana right away. He's not that convinced, either, when Tatiana tries to tell him that she's fine now, but he doesn't press the issue, either. She'll come to him when she's ready to talk about it. She always does and always will.

Natasha's strangely quiet while they're all in the kitchen prepping dinner. She's slicing carrots with a little too much force, and while Steve's certain she wouldn't _actually_ do something to the kid any more than he would, he still reaches over and pulls the knife from her hand, because, well…

Natasha pissed off and with a knife? That'll always make him a little nervous.

"What was that boy's name again?" Natasha asks, calmly, though they all know she reads the files of everyone Tatiana or James ever dates.

"Mom," Tatiana says. "Please don't do anything to him."

"I'm not going to _do_ anything to him."

" _Mom_ ," Tatiana and James say. Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches for the knife again, but Steve pulls it away, raising his eyebrows.

"You too?" she asks. He just stares at her. She rolls her eyes again, huffing. "You know I'll leave the kid alone, now give me the knife or you're all going without dinner tonight." Steve breathes out a laugh and hands it over by the handle, and Natasha finishes her carrots and dumps them into the pot. "Having a talk with him isn't _technically_ threatening, right?"

"When you're well versed in scare tactics, I think it still counts," James points out with a grin.

Natasha exhales, almost in defeat (except not really, because Natasha _never_ admits defeat; she withdraws and regroups). She pulls Tatiana into her arms and Tatiana lets out this little giggle before hugging her mother back. Steve smiles as he watches.

"I'll be alright, Mom," Tatiana insists. "It's not like… I mean, I didn't think we were going to be together forever or anything. We had to break up eventually."

"Can't argue with that logic, can I?" Natasha smiles down at her daughter. "You definitely didn't get your bravery from me, or your smarts."

"Oh, please," Tatiana laughs. "James and I got everything from you guys. That's why we know a thing or two about love. It's kind of hard not to when you and Dad are so sappy."

James chuckles, and Natasha glances over her shoulder to share a smile with Steve.

"Can't argue with that logic," he says.


	13. Steve/Natasha - the Black Widow suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve, you always tell me that I’m beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **prompt:** [a gifset of Scarlett Johansson in the Black Widow suit](http://salazar-keli.tumblr.com/post/70163891293/no-ones-sexuality-is-safe-when-it-comes-to)
> 
> I've always loved that gifset of ScarJo because she's so adorable in it and now I turned it into a prompt for a drabble. Yay!

She's still suited up when he gets the call from Tony that Natasha and Maria returned from their mission and are in medical. If she was brought to medical rather than an actual hospital then obviously she's not hurt _that_ badly, but they still brought her _straight_ to medical, which means she's hurt enough to bypass debriefing, and they all know how Tony is about following protocol. (Ironic, since Steve is pretty sure Tony spent more than half of his life sticking it to the rules, but whatever. He gets that he's turning a new leaf and all.)

He's better about not being so reactive when Natasha gets hurt, but he's understandably always going to be upset by it.

And he knows she appreciates it a lot more than she likes to let on. If she needs to put on a strong face for whatever reason, he's not going to call her out on it. He's the same way sometimes. But she's always straight with him when it matters and that's all he can ask for.

Natasha's sitting on top of one of the beds with Sharon working stitches through a cut (not that big or that deep, thank god) on her arm when he walks into medical.

This cut is relatively nothing to worry about. The bloodstained cloth she's pressing to her hip, on the other hand? That worries him a little more.

"Hey, Steve," Sharon greets, not even looking up from her stitchwork.

"Hey," he replies as he goes to stand beside them. He places his hand over hers and presses gently, helping her apply more pressure to the wound over her hip. She winces a little and he feels his heart squeeze. He'll _always_ hate seeing her hurt. "Another tree jump out at you?"

"Ass," she mutters, grinning. He chuckles softly. "Extendable switchblade," she explains. "Not too deep, but not just a graze, either."

"Nothing you won't heal from." Her lips twitch, grin widening. He leans over and presses a kiss in the middle of her forehead. "Welcome home, Natasha."

She exhales a sigh. "Good to be back."

"James has been asking for you," Sharon chimes in, cutting off the end of her thread.

He'll probably never get over the way Natasha's face lights up whenever someone even mentions their son.

"Has he?" she asks, looking up at Steve. It surprises no one that James's first word was " _mama_ ". He says " _dada_ " now, too, and can obviously tell them apart and know who he's asking for when he babbles for them. He's been asking for Natasha nonstop since she and Maria left for Cabo three days ago. Steve wasn't any better about missing her.

"All the time," Steve tells her, meaning it. "He bothered everyone about you. But Sharon was good about distracting him."

Sharon shrugs her shoulder and takes the cloth from Natasha. "Babies are easy for anyone to distract," she says dismissively. But Natasha smiles up at her and Sharon places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes in reassurance. "I'm always happy to help."

Natasha smiles gratefully.

It was no secret that Natasha, during her pregnancy and right after, was itching to get back to work as soon as possible. She lost the baby weight in no time, practically, and didn't even protest when Nick suggested having her instruct a few combat classes to really get her body back into the swing of things instead of just jumping right into it. No one thought that her being pregnant would compromise her skills, but still. Pregnancy takes a toll on every mother and it's not the easiest thing to just bounce back from that kind of change.

Now that she's out of missions, though, she hates being away from James. She hates it even more when James misses her because she's crazy enough to think that her being away for three or four days _at most_ at a time makes her a bad mother.

It _doesn't_. She's allowed to love what she does, and, while James is still little, they take turns being at home while the other is working.

No one's being a bad parent here.

She just really misses her family whenever she's away.

It's quiet as Sharon stitches the cut over Natasha's hip and the dresses both of her wounds. Natasha isn't really bleeding anymore, but it's just in case. Then she hands Natasha a clean pair of sweats and a Stark Industries shirt to change into. The med bay is stocked with them because Tony is weird about everyone wearing tattered and bloodstained suits around his nice, clean Stark Tower (and yes, that actually came out of Tony's mouth). "I know, not the most flattering outfit, but it's actually really comfortable," Sharon comments.

"Nothing's really flattering on me, anymore," Natasha says, hopping off of the bed. "Stretch marks and weight gain tend to do that to a person."

Steve frowns. Sharon blinks and stares at her like she's crazy. "You're… You're kidding, right?" Sharon asks with a big of a disbelieving laugh. "You're almost exactly the same size you used to be before you got pregnant and James isn't even one yet."

See, that's his reaction, too. He just knows better than to really _act_ like Natasha's crazy.

Even though, when it comes to is, she pretty much is. She feels like her body hasn't been the same since she gave birth, and, no, it's not. Of course it's not. _Having a kid_ will do that to a woman and that's nothing to be ashamed of. Her hips are a little wider and she has stretch marks, yes, but she also lost basically every pound she gained. She's still slim.

And she's still the most beautiful person he's ever seen, and definitely the sexiest. He's sure that's not biased, either. _Everyone_ still stares at her, especially in that skintight suit.

She's allowed to feel however the hell she wants about her body and all, which is why he hasn't actually called her crazy for thinking the way she does, but still.

She's crazy.

Natasha just shrugs and tugs at her zipper, but he grasps her hand to stop her. She looks up at him.

"You know you're beautiful, right?" he asks her.

She looks amused. "Steve, you always tell me that I'm beautiful."

"Because it's true," Sharon sings, tossing a shameless smile their way when Natasha looks at her, then turning to continue cleaning up her station.

Natasha looks back at Steve. "I don't know how to make you see how amazingly sexy you are," he admits.

"Steve," she breathes out on a laugh. He takes her hands in his, squeezing gently. "Everything you do makes me feel beautiful, and sexy, and all that other vain crap." He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "It's just… It's been an adjustment. I've depended on my looks to get things done. I still do. It's just in my skillset. I was just worried that maybe—"

"Maybe some people wouldn't find you sexy anymore?"

She gnaws her lower lip, nodding. "It's stupid, and definitely not something a _mother_ should be worried about at all—"

"But it's always been what you counted on as a spy," he interrupts, pulling her closer. "Natasha, it's alright. Worrying about that is nothing to be ashamed of, especially since it's what's kept you alive in pretty bad situations. But, trust me. I don't think there's anything _to_ worry about."

She holds his gaze, lips tugging into a smile. "Okay," she says, barely above a whisper. He nods. "So you wouldn't mind if I walked over to Nick's office like this?"

He looks between them. Her suit's still unzipped a little passed where he knows her bra-line should be. You can definitely see skin.

He chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you want, babe," he tells her.

"Good answer," she replies, and he's chuckling again as she pushes her fingers through his hair, tugging his lips over hers.

He's a few paces behind her as she walks – _struts_ , really – down the hallway, turning everyone's heads. Part of him is probably jealous, but he's mostly just enjoying the fact that his sexy as hell wife is actually feeling sexy again, so, no. He doesn't mind.


	14. Clint & Tatiana - Disney costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who the hell let any of them become parents?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **for:** [madhattersdagger](http://madhattersdagger.tumblr.com/) and [acupofkitti](http://acupofkitti.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** [these headcanons](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/116839593840/madhattersdagger-chalantness) and [a Disney cosplay](http://www.enjoygram.com/m/785825761459290590_724712159)
> 
> Okay, so this doesn't really have to do with those headcanons, but it was just inspired by the idea of Clint with the Romanogers Babies.
> 
> And I feel like Clint's Inner Voice swears a lot. Also, to clear a few things up, this is going off the idea that MCU's Clint is based off of Clint from Ultimates (Earth-1610) where he has a wife named Laura and three kids: Callum, Lewis, and Nicole.

He'd recognize that head tilt anywhere, and he has to do a double take when Tatiana pulls it on him. The eyes may be a different color, but this little girl? She looks so much like her mother that it's fucking _scary_. He looks at her and thinks that this could definitely be Natasha when she was younger, only a hell of a lot bubblier. _This_ kid has no worries in the world right now, and if it were up to her doting parents, it'd stay that way for the rest of her life. Not that she needs them to do that for her, because he can already tell she's going to be this feisty little thing kicking ass and taking names when she grows up. Hell, she's already like that right now. She's got everyone wrapped around her finger and definitely knows it.

She's doing the thing right now. He's so screwed.

"Uncle Clint," she says in this singsong voice and a tilt of the head, and shit. He should stop offering to babysit. "Can we go in there?"

She points across the street at The Disney Store, her blue eyes sparkling. He knows if they go in there, he's going to let her buy whatever her little heart wants despite whatever his checking account comes down to, and then he'll have Steve and Natasha on his ass about spoiling her.

Hah! As if those two have any sort of high ground to stand on, or any of them, for that matter. They all spoil their kids without so much as blinking.

Who the hell let any of them become parents?

"Uncle Clint," Tatiana repeats, a little louder, which she does sometimes because she knows he doesn't always hear her. Not because he's half (all) deaf, but because he doesn't always pay attention.

"I heard you, T," he tells her. She just stares him down. God, she's so her mother's daughter. "Yeah, we can go in there."

She squeals a little, her entire face lighting up as she throws her arms around his leg, and, fuck. She's so cute.

(He doesn't say it out loud, but, you know. She's kind of his favorite—after his own kids, of course.)

Tatiana reaches for hand as they cross at the crosswalk, and he glances down at her as they get closer and closer to The Disney Store, her eyes wide. She's practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. It's always been the funniest thing ever to him that Tatiana is so into Disney and fairytales and all that other crap. He kind of expected her to be this cynical little thing that made fun of princesses. But, now that he thinks about it, Natasha's always been this low key romantic at heart, and they all know Steve is straight out of the old fashioned.

They're so perfect for each other that it's kind of sick.

(Damn. He wishes he thought of that for his speech at their reception.)

Tatiana's two seconds from bolting as soon as they're through the doors, but she looks up at him for permission first, and he chuckles and tells her to, "Have at it," and she flashes him this wide, toothy smile before running off.

She goes straight for this section on the wall with The Little Mermaid, which doesn't surprise him in the least bit. Tatiana loves pretty much all Disney movies, but she got attached to Ariel because they've got the same eye color _and_ hair color, and her little mind thinks that makes her the coolest Disney princess ever. Not to mention she's, you know, a _mermaid_ , which Tatiana goes crazy about, too. He remembered, once upon a time, he cringed at the idea of being one of _those dads_ who drowned in a sea of pink and princesses. But there's a lot more for little girls outside of princesses nowadays. Tatiana's like his Nicole – she likes princesses _and_ pirates, depending on her mood. So he gets the whole Disney infatuation.

Plus, he thinks it's kind of great that Ariel exists for girls like Tatiana. Disney ought to do a lot more of that representation thing.

Anyway.

Tatiana stretches up on her toes and gets her hands on an Ariel plush doll, nearly knocks over an Ariel mug in the process, but he catches it before it can reach the ground. She looks freaked out for a second, but he just arches an eyebrow at her and she giggles.

"Finding everything alright over here?" one of the employees asks.

"Yeah, we're good," Clint answers. Tatiana tilts her head and peers up at the retail associate, and the tips of her hair touch the hem of her skirt with the motion. Her hair's gotten so long now. He knows that must be a bitch to maintain, but Tatiana wanted to keep her hair long and would freak out whenever someone tried to cut it. Steve managed to talk her into letting them trim it every so often, and only after Tatiana leveled him and Natasha with this fucking _hilarious_ look of pure skepticism when they tried to explain split ends and dry tips.

"We're good," Tatiana echoes in her little voice that makes everyone's hearts melt. This associate is no exception. He can tell just by looking at her.

"Is Ariel your favorite princess?" the associate asks Tatiana. She bobs her head in a nod. "You know, we have an awesome discount on our princess makeovers today."

She's still looking at Tatiana, but that's clearly meant for him.

Oh, no. Hell no.

Tatiana turns to look at him, staring up at him with her huge, blue eyes. Fuck, why did Steve and Natasha have to breed such an adorable kid? Seriously, she's this walking, talking porcelain doll that head-tilts her way into his wallet. Well, she doesn't _just_ look to him to buy her things. He knows that she genuinely loves hanging out with him.

That's why it's so damn hard to tell her no.

"Alright, alright," he relents, even though she hasn't _technically_ asked him for anything yet. Fuck. He's such a pushover.

She squeals again and then tugs at his jacket, and he knows the drill. He gets down on one knee so that she can kiss his cheek, and she tells him, "Thank you, Uncle Clint," in this little whisper, like it's meant just for him, and he's grinning like an idiot as the associate leads her away.

He sits his ass down on a plastic chair near the station they've designated for their princess makeovers and pulls out his phone. He starts playing one of the few games he has on here, but then it occurs to him that he should probably be taking pictures. Steve and Natasha will probably want a few of the actual makeover. Are they allowed to take pictures? Ah, fuck it. He opens his camera app and snaps a few Tatiana getting into her costume. They put her in this nude-colored sheer shirt thing so she's, you know, not freezing and topless, and he snaps a few of her shimmying into her costume. Then they sit her down and fix up her hair and put on a little makeup (Steve's going to _kill him_ ) and she's pretty much done.

She looks fucking adorable.

"All finished," the stylist declares, handing Tatiana a mirror.

Tatiana has this totally awed expression on her face as she very gingerly touches the green flower now in her hair, and then someone hands her a large silver fork, which sends her into a fit of giggles, and he takes way too many shots of her giggling as she twirls it through her hair.

Then he tucks his phone back into his pocket and gets down on one knee beside her, to get to eye level with her. "You like it, T?"

"I love it!" she declares, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing with all her might. "I love you, Uncle Clint."

He kisses her hair. "Love you, too, T."

... ...

Natasha fucking _laughs_ at him when he drops Tatiana off. He paid for her makeover and a tote bag to hold her clothes in and the Ariel plush she'd first picked up at the store. Honestly, nothing for him to get laughed at about. Steve tries to hand him some cash, but Clint brushes it off. (It's fine. She's his goddaughter and he's not _that_ strapped for money.)

"Just couldn't say no to her, huh?" Natasha asks, sounding way too amused by all of this. That might be worse than her being pissed.

He exhales a laugh of his own. "Not a chance in hell," he admits. "Just like her damn mom."


	15. Steve/Natasha - "Everyone smiles at us, like we're the cutest couple."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can tell that there's something _more_ to his touch this time. She saw that look in his eyes when they met up at the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17ish  
>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** [this edit](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/89678270363/asofteravenger-lets-turn-those-smiles)
> 
> Inspired by Wanda in the _Age of Ultron_ trailers wearing her hair in a ponytail, because that made me think about how Natasha always has her hair down.

She doesn't usually wear her hair up, mostly because it hurts like hell when she has to pull hair ties and bobby pins out. She doesn't know how Maria does it every day. Yeah, it's probably important that she has her hair out of the way when she's working, and it's not as if the elastic snagging on her hair and pulling at her scalp is the worst thing she's ever endured. It's not. But it's not all the comfortable, either, and she performs perfectly fine even with her hair loose and flying in her face, so if she wants to wear it down, she will.

(Clint _laughed_ at her when she'd explained this to him once, and only because he'd brought it up in the first place, the asshole.)

But sometimes she just wants it out of the way. Or sometimes she's in a rush and can't do anything with her hair still damp right out of the shower, which will no doubt dry into this wavy, frizzy mess that'll bother her the whole day, so she'll just tie it up.

Today is one of those days.

Steve left the apartment before her this morning because it's Tuesday and he and Sam always get up at like, the crack of dawn and run for a few hours on Tuesdays. It's something they did all the time when they were on their own and trying to track down Bucky, but now the guy's in New York and doing a lot better, and now it's probably just habit for them. She doesn't mind. Yeah, she'd obviously like to wake up to her boyfriend every day if she could help it, but she thinks it's important that he and Sam still do their own thing. Plus, it's kind of her way of thanking the guy for keeping an eye out for Steve when she was gone. It's nothing they formally agreed to, but it was just understood, and he did a hell of a good job.

The least she could do is let him keep his running buddy.

Anyway.

She was sort of still half asleep when Pepper called to ask if she wanted to get together for breakfast. It's totally last minute and still pretty early to be going out, but Natasha hasn't hung out with the girl since she and Tony got back from their honeymoon, so she says yes, showers and changes and meets Pepper in the Tower lobby in twenty.

Pepper's in capris and has her hair down and Natasha's in a sundress and has a ponytail, and it's kind of funny because it's usually the other way around.

"Running late, huh?" Pepper teases once they're sitting across from each other at a café a few blocks away from the Tower.

Natasha smirks. Pepper knows her pretty well, obviously, so she knows the ponytail means that Natasha didn't have the time or just didn't want to deal with her hair.

"Hey, I chose you over my bed," Natasha points out. Pepper just laughs. "Well, don't flatter yourself too much. Offering me breakfast definitely helped. That's how Steve always gets me out of bed, anyway."

"He makes you breakfast every morning?" Pepper asks. "That's so cute."

Natasha arches an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, shush," Pepper says. "That's a compliment."

"Not exactly the first compliment that should come to mind when you look at Steve, but…"

They're both laughing by the time the waiter comes to take their order, and they get a few looks, but whatever.

They spend more time talking than they do eating, but that always happens. Pepper tells her a little bit about the honeymoon and Natasha catches her up on what happened while they were gone (which was nothing exciting, but that's actually a good thing in their world) and then they talk about nothing in particular. Then Pepper mentions the benefit that the city is holding this weekend for wildlife preservations that they're all going to, so they talk about the weather and how it's kind of strange that they're dressing up to go to a zoo.

"I was actually thinking of heading downtown to look for a bit, because I have no idea what I'm supposed to wear," Pepper says. "We should go."

"Sounds good," Natasha replies, glancing at her phone. There's a text from Steve, asking how breakfast with Pepper is going. "Steve will probably want to come."

"He'll want to follow us in and out of stores as we try on outfits?"

"He has an artistic appreciation for women's clothing," Natasha says with a shrug. "And he likes to make himself useful so that my hands can be free while I'm shopping."

"How cute," Pepper sighs as she cuts another piece of her waffle off. Natasha frowns a little. There's that word again.

 _Cute_.

It's not that Natasha has a problem with the word, but it's a little weird when it's being directed at her. Well, at her and Steve, because apparently they're pretty damn _cute_ as a couple. Tony likes to point this out, too, though he uses the word "sickeningly" in front of it, so he probably doesn't mean it as a compliment like Pepper does.

... ...

Steve has his arm on the back of the couch in the fitting room, his fingers playing with the tips of her ponytail, and she glances at him in her peripheral. He's been doing this the whole time – just sort of playing and gently tugging on her hair – and usually she wouldn't find that unusual. He sort of always has his hands on her somehow, resting over the small of her back or combing through her hair, and she doesn't mind. She actually kind of loves how it feels, the light pressure of him on her skin. She's never said as much, but he knows.

But she can tell that there's something _more_ to his touch this time. She saw that look in his eyes when they met up at the Tower.

"Steve," she says lowly.

Sam and Jane left to grab Jamba Juice for everyone, and Darcy and Pepper are both in their own fitting rooms, so it's just the two of them in this little waiting area. Not one retail associate has even checked up on them in ten minutes. She doesn't need to whisper, but whatever.

He hums in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes forward, but when she doesn't say anything else, he turns to look at her.

He raises his eyebrows. There may or may not be smirk on her lips.

"Something on your mind?" she asks, bringing her hand up to touch his fingers in her hair to clarify. He breathes out a chuckle. "You like the ponytail," she points out.

"It looks good on you," he agrees. He twirls a chunk of it around his finger before letting it go. "I hardly ever see you wear your hair up."

"I didn't realize it was a fetish of yours," she says.

He chuckles again and angles himself to face her a little more, leaning in to press a kiss to her throat. Her eyelids flutter closed. That seems to be his favorite place to kiss her when he wants specific things, and she falls for it every time. She's a little surprised that he's doing it right now, though, in the middle of the store. If he's teasing her, she'll be pissed. He _loves_ teasing her, too, the little shit. She'll admit that the smug grin he gets when he coaxes little mewls and whimpers from her is sexy as hell, and so is the fact that he's so damn good at pushing her buttons. That's why she hates it but doesn't at the same time. If he riles her up right now only to make her wait until they get home, though, they'll have words.

"Not really a fetish," he mumbles against her throat after a moment, sending soft vibrations along her skin. "More like a fantasy," he finishes.

She lets out a laugh. "Fantasy?" she asks.

He kisses his way, slowly, along her neck, under her jaw. Yes, she's aware that someone could walk by and see them at any moment. She just doesn't care. She's felt his fingertips ghosting over her skin all day and she wants him to do something about it.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss over her pulse, making her lips part a little, before taking her hands in his.

"I'll show you," he whispers, and then tugs her onto her feet, leading her away. They should let Pepper and Darcy that they'll be gone, but whatever.

She's not really thinking right now.

Steve pulls her into one of the single bathrooms on the side of the store, and she's mildly aware of the fact that someone might've seen them go in, or that it could've been caught on camera somewhere, but she's not too worried. Security footage is almost always too grainy to make out anything important, anyway.

He clicks the lock into place behind them and sort of backs her into the edge of the counter, slanting his lips over hers. She grasps onto his biceps and pulls him closer.

She's not sure how he can handle her so gently and forcefully at the same time, kiss her in this tender yet almost demanding way, but she loves it.

Then he hooks a finger underneath the elastic in her hair and tugs in out in one swift motion, and she flinches a little in surprise, but then his hand is combing through her hair, his fingertips massaging leisurely over her scalp, and she all but whimpers against his lips.

That feels _amazing_ all in itself.

(And really, she should've known that _this_ was his fantasy – to get to be the one to let her hair down. He's always loved playing with her hair.)

His fingertips are still moving over her scalp as he hooks his other arm around her waist and hoists her up and onto the edge of the counter, hips pressing together as he leans her back, her shoulders pressing against the mirror. He presses his lips to her collarbone, peppering kisses down her front through the thin material of her sundress as he lowers himself onto one knee, and he glances up and meets her gaze. "Run your hands through your hair," he tells her, eyes dark, and she keeps their gaze locked as she does exactly that.

He makes this noise from the back of her throat, flips her skirt up and closes his mouth over her through her panties, and she arches her back.

"You know," she breathes as Steve shifts her hips up, tugging her panties out of the way. "Pepper called us cute."

He lets out a laugh, his breath warm against the inside of her thigh. She gnaws at her lower lip and shares a smile with him.

"Yeah," he says, pressing his palm to open her legs up a little more. "We are pretty cute," he says, and she wants to laugh at how utterly ridiculous he sounds, but then he flattens his tongue over her and she dissolves into a moan, tugging at her hair.


	16. Steve/Natasha - Steve comforts Natasha after a nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I'm awake and I can see for myself that you're not fucking dying, so yeah," she breathes. "I'm peachy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [romanogers-everlark](http://romanogers-everlark.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "I'm going to need a romanogers drabble when Steve and Natasha are in a safe house on a mission and Nat wakes up screaming from a nightmare and of course steve is there to comfort her with maximum fluff."
> 
> I know I had a different headcanon but then this happened and now I like the new scenario, too.

He's not always great with his timing.

The morning after the night he finally asks her out, Nick deploys them on two separate missions that take almost a week to come home from.

When he asks her to move in with him, they're pressed together underneath his duvet, his hips moving slowly against hers as her fingernails dig into his biceps. He's peppering kisses along the column of her throat and the question sort of just tumbles out as his desire coils, and she lets out this little gasp and can't exactly respond right away.

He does the stupid thing where he tells her he loves her for the first time over his earpiece, right before knocking a door down and heading into gunfire, and she's _pissed_ when he gets hauled out of the wreckage, saying that she's in love with a suicidal asshole.

(Not exactly the way he pictured her saying the words for the first time, but now she tells him pretty often, all soft and with this beautiful smile on her face, so it's fine.)

And now?

Now they've been together for almost three years and Nick has them following a lead to a nuclear weapons base in Switzerland. There're three sets of coordinates for three possible locations for the base within a hundred mile radius of each other, and Tony has a safe house in the mountains nearby that he and Natasha set up in temporarily. They're not trying to be here any longer than a week, because if there _are_ weapons here and someone else knows about it, they need to not attract attention so that they can lay low and call for backup.

The first set of coordinates is the hardest to get to because it's so high up. It's also bust. There's a building on the site, but it turns up empty.

Natasha falls asleep on the couch with her feet in his lap as he flips through channels on the old television. The trek exhausted the both of them, but he caught his second wind before he could crash and now he can't get to sleep. He should wake Natasha so she could move to the bed, but he knows she won't want to until he's ready to lie down, too.

He's watching an infomercial with the volume down low, but her whimper is so soft that he almost doesn't catch it.

Then she flinches suddenly and lets out a louder whimper and he sits up.

"Natasha," he says softly. He knows she still gets nightmares sometimes. They both do. It's woken him up, but he hasn't been awake to see her go through one before.

Her eyebrows are pulled together, her breath hitching as her fingers grip the blanket he draped across her tightly. She looks _scared_ and he hates it.

"Natasha," he tries again, hand hovering over her body. The sounds she's letting out are getting louder and louder, but he still can't really make out anything she's saying, and he wants to wake her, but he's also not sure if he should—

But then she _screams_ (and, _fuck_ , it sounds like _his name_ ) and he grasps her by her arms and jerks her awake, pulling her into his arms as she gasps sharply. Her eyes are wild and glassy with tears as they fly open to stare back into his, and her hands come up between them, gripping onto the material of his shirt. He rubs his hand over her back, watching as she glances around the safe house. Her breathing settles a little as she remembers where they are, and her eyes are a little less wild when she looks at him again, but she hasn't loosened her grip on his shirt, either, and his heart hasn't stopped hammering in his chest. She brings a hand up and sets it against his cheek and her expression fades into relief.

"Natasha," he pleads.

"Bad dream," she mumbles, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone.

"You alright?" Stupid question, he knows, but shit. He needs to know. She looked pretty fucking _terrified_ just a second ago.

"Well, I'm awake and I can see for myself that you're not fucking dying, so yeah," she breathes. "I'm peachy."

" _Natasha_ ," he whispers. She curls herself against him and presses her forehead against his neck and he closes his arms around her a little tighter. She's still shaking a little and he reaches for the blanket and pulls it over her shoulders, even though he knows that her shaking probably has nothing to do with how cold it is outside.

He's not sure how long they stay like this, but he keeps smoothing his hand over her back until her breathing evens out. He can tell that she's still awake, but she doesn't move.

After a moment, she whispers in this soft, warm breath against his skin: "Do you remember when you told me that you loved me?"

He chuckles lowly, feels her tracing her fingertips along his collarbone. "Of course," he says, meaning it. How could he forget? "You were pissed, and rightfully so."

"Not really," she admits. "You were reckless, but I'm no better half the time."

"Natasha," he says.

She shakes her head and pulls away a little, just enough to look him in the eyes. He kisses her in the middle of her forehead, just because he wants to, and then meets her gaze again. "The real reason I was so mad was because you said it to me and I didn't have a chance to say it back. If you had died—"

"I didn't," he interrupts, holding her a little tighter, a little closer.

"You were really close to it, Steve," she says in this soft voice. He swallows. "I didn't say the words back right away because I could hear the gunfire. Tony _and_ Sam had to hold me back before I went in after you myself. I would've told you right then and there, but I wanted you to be alive when I said it. I _needed_ you to be alive when I said it."

He nods a little, never breaking eye contact. "Is that what your nightmare was about?" he asks.

"That's what they're always about now, and they're so damn vivid." She smiles at him, small but still beautiful. "I think that's because I actually have something to lose now."

"You're not going to lose me," he says automatically, and he knows he can't… He shouldn't just make promises like that. But they both need to hear it.

They both need to _believe_ it, too. They're always going to come back to each other and they can't think any differently.

"I know," she says, and he brings a hand up and combs it through her hair. Her eyelids flutter closed as he rubs gently at her scalp, massaging it. It's late, and he knows she's even more tired now than she was when they got back to the safe house. He's finally starting to feel tired now, too. Nightmares have a knack of draining both of them.

They should probably move to the bed now, but he's kind of good with just sitting here with her curled up against him under the duvet.

"Natasha?" he asks. She hums sleepily in acknowledgment. He closes his eyes, his muscles feeling tired. "You ever think about a future for us?"

She makes this little noise. "All the time," she mumbles.

"Good," he breathes. She chuckles softly, but then he adds, "So is it alright if I ask you to marry me?" and she lets out a breath. He doesn't get an answer right away, but she burrows herself even closer against him and falls asleep with her laying hand over his heart.

(Later, she calls him an ass for proposing to her when she was pretty much asleep, asks why he couldn't wait until the morning. He just laughs and slides the ring onto her finger.)


	17. Steve/Natasha - kiss as a diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her lips have a muscle memory of their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **for:** [natasharomnoff](http://natasharomnoff.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** [this headcanon](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/89888072339/capwidows-headcanon-where-nat-and-steve-are-in)
> 
> Kind of just exactly what the post said, but I really wanted to write it out and then wasn't sure how to extend it, so here it is!

The only reason why it takes so long is because there're eyes _everywhere_ and the windows of having their target alone were small and very few. That's the drawback of crowds. You get ample cover, yes, but so many possible witnesses. The fact that they're in a Las Vegas casino means there're also cameras everywhere and a pretty good chance one of them is going to catch something if you don't wait for just the right time. But, at a quarter to three, their guy is alone in a shadowed corner at the end of the bar and Natasha saunters over.

He's unconscious and collected by agents in the half hour, and then Steve asks if she's ready to turn in.

 _Yes_. She can't wait to get to bed, honestly.

It's been a long day and a longer night, and she's never been fond of the heat, anyway. Warm weather, she loves, but going from air-conditioned hotels to dry desert heat to thick humidity from the outdoor misting system kind of screwed with her or something. She's _tired_ and she just really wants to take a shower and get some sleep.

She doesn't say any of this to Steve, but he gives her this small smile like he understands, anyway. She's not surprised. Somehow, he's always the one to understand.

"Come on," he says, setting his hand on the small of her back. His palm is pressing against her skin because her top is backless and his touch practically burns through her.

(She'll blame it on the heat.)

She lets him sweep her through the crowd and straight to the elevators, and, of course, a bunch of people file in after them.

Steve pulls her into a corner with him, and she just assumes that it's to make room, but then he turns her around so that they're facing and tugs her closer, their hips pressing and his fingers tucking into her hair as he kisses her.

It's stupid, really, that her first reaction is to let out this noise of surprise, but she manages to swallow it down, even if she's a little confused as to what the hell he's doing. Steve doesn't… He won't just kiss someone like that and she knows it. Her thoughts are kind of going a dozen places right now, but she just relaxes against him, tucks her hands into the back pockets of his shorts as her eyelids flutter closed. She trusts Steve, first of all. Secondly, if she'd reacted any less casually, someone would've noticed, being in such close proximity to each other like this, and any kind of attention while under cover is best to be avoided, if possible. Actually, that's probably exactly what this is about – keeping cover.

The elevator is quiet enough to hear people mumble in discomfort, but she doesn't care.

Her first thought is that his lips are just as gentle yet firm as she remembers. Her second though is that he's gotten so much better at kissing. He actually wasn't that bad to begin with, to be honest, but there's definitely a difference. Her lips have a muscle memory of their first kiss.

She tugs him closer and he scrapes his fingers over her scalp, massaging it, drawing this noise from the back of her throat, and he takes this moment to kiss her a little deeper.

He's _so much better_ at kissing.

The elevator chimes, and she hears shuffling as everyone steps off. Well, she obviously can't see if for herself if everyone is gone, but it sure as hell feels that way, and she doesn't doubt that they'd just step off and give her and Steve their privacy in favor for waiting for another elevator. Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable, after all.

The doors slide closed, and slowly, almost reluctantly, Steve pulls back. It's just enough for their lips to no longer be touching, but, well. Every other part of them still is.

"We were in risk of being compromised," he says, voice low. She nods a little. (Yeah, she figured that might be the reason.)

And, once upon a time, she might've expected him to apologize. She knows how he is about asking permission and everything. But they're way beyond that point now. He can read her pretty well and has always been able to, and that doesn't freak her out like it did before, because, like she said, she trusts him. And she's become accustomed to the comfort of having someone just _know_ you, what you're thinking. She had that with Clint, but he's not on the field anymore. He says it's just a break but she knows him better. This is a bit more permanent than that and he's – not _worried_ , but probably wary, maybe, of how she'll react. She's not sure why. Of course she wants the world for him and he has that with his family.

It's quiet as the elevator takes them to their floor, but like a lot of things are for her with Steve, it's a comfortable kind of quiet. Then the doors slide open and she follows Steve down the hallway and into their hotel room, straight for the beds, and lies back against the mattress as she wills her heartrate and her breathing to slow down.

"You alright?" he asks, leaning an arm against the doorframe with his arms crossed. She knows he's not being smug about the kiss.

"Yeah," she reassures. "Nice call with the diversion." And, because it's in the air and they both know it, she says, "You were definitely a lot smoother than our first kiss."

He chuckles softly. "Well, I've had more practice being agent these last few years." She nods. Yes, that's definitely true. She's been with him, more or less, through his entire career as an Avenger and a SHIELD agent. She's seen the progress. "And I've learned from the best," he adds.

He's staring right at her. She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you, Cap," she advises. "You know what they say about flattery."

"That it gets you nowhere?"

"Actually, it gets you _everywhere_." She props herself up on her elbows, tilts her head. "And where'd Captain America learn to kiss like that? Have you been practicing?"

He glances away, his smile widening. He actually looks a little proud about it now but she doesn't point it out. "Nobody needs practice," he says dismissively.

She squints at him a little but he just raises both his eyebrows and stares right back. She lets out a laugh. Another thing she loves about Steve is that, as much as he tries to not be the one that starts anything, he sure as hell won't shrink away from a challenge, either. It's great.

"Well, Rogers, you certainly don't," she says, and he holds her gaze, her words lingering in the air between them.


	18. Steve/Natasha - "Can I have this dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Pepper get married on the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **for:** [syrensongbird](http://syrensongbird.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Can I have this dance?"
> 
> For a drabble meme on tumblr.

Tony and Pepper get married on the beach, with the sun setting slowly behind the horizon and a gentle, saltwater breeze passing through. They stand under an arch of flowers as Phil officiates, and Pepper looks gorgeous, of course, in this backless dress with lace and more flowers curled into her hair. Tony doesn’t clean up half-bad, either, and Natasha told him as much right before the ceremony, because they’re friends and she figures now’s as good a time as any to let him know that she’s happy for him. There’re less than fifty of them in the crowd, and Natasha sits next to Steve with her legs crossed and his arm on the back of her chair. The air is thick and humid, but it’s still such a beautiful, beautiful ceremony, and Natasha barely notices the sweat making her dress stick to her skin.  
  
Steve’s thumb skims idly over her shoulderblade as Tony recites his vows and Pepper dabs at her eyes with his handkerchief, and Natasha glances at him. Steve winks and she presses her lips together, turning back to the wedding.  
  
Torches light the path down the shore from the ceremony to the reception, which is just a few low tables set with pillows instead of chairs and flower petals scattered along the sand. There’s a band and a small waitstaff and an open bar (Tony’s doing, of course), and the air fills with chatter and laughter as they pass around alcohol and eat off of each other’s plates. It’s not very different from every other time they’ve all gotten together, except they’re _on a beach_ and Tony and Pepper are now (officially) Mr. and Mrs. Stark, and no one makes a harmless joke about Tony not being able to have a wandering eye anymore.  
  
The couple shares their first dance, and then a few minutes later, they invite everyone else to dance. Clint sets Baby Nathaniel in Wanda’s arms and pulls Laura to her feet, and then Sam nudges Maria with his elbow and gives her a wink, and the two of them get up, too.  
  
Natasha’s watching Tony and Pepper as Tony says something that makes Pepper grip his arm and tilt her head back in laughter, and Natasha feels a large hand settle over her hip, breath warm against the back of her neck as Steve leans into her space and asks, “Can I have this dance?”  
  
Wanda’s looking at them from her table, a wide smile on her face. Clint’s smirking, too.  
  
Natasha feels herself grin, setting her wine glass down. “Lead the way.”  
  
Steve gets to his feet (everyone kicked off their shoes after the ceremony, and it feels pretty amazing, the warm sand between her toes) and offers his hands, and she grips both of them and lets him pull her up. He steps back, their fingers still joined, and then pulls her close, hands fitting over the small of her back as she drapes her arms around his neck.  
  
She wonders if he can feel her heart thrumming with how they’re flushed together like this, but as she looks up at him from under her eyelashes, his eyes sparkling as he gazes at her with this gentle smile, she realizes that she doesn’t care. They’ve been dancing around each other since Sokovia, and Washington DC, and kind of since New York, too, and she knows that neither of them are as oblivious as they pretend to be. People have been talking about them for weeks, behind closed doors and in hushed conversations, as if she and Steve wouldn’t be able to figure out what all the looks and whispers were about if they didn’t try hard enough.  
  
So Natasha just presses her face into his shoulder, smiling against his shirt as she breathes him in, and he pulls her close and whispers her name.  
  
“Everyone’s staring,” he says into her ear.  
  
She pulls him closer, as close as physically possible, and closes her eyes. It’s just the two of them in this moment, with the stars sparkling above and the ocean waves crashing gently against the shore.  
  
“Let them.”


	19. Peter/Wanda - "I'll still be here when you're ready."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks up at her voice, but she's already got her back to him as she heads for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~2,200  
>  **for:** an anon  
>  **prompt:** "I'll still be here when you're ready."
> 
> For a drabble meme on tumblr.

He's at the table in the corner when she walks in.

She's only been to this coffeehouse a handful of times since moving to New York, but every time, she sees him sitting there, tinkering with his camera. He keeps his beanie and scarf on even though it's almost always warm inside, and under the table, he idly kicks his skateboard back and forth with his feet. She wonders how often he must be here, or how long he stays, because it doesn't seem to matter what hour she comes in at. He's always there, and she'll always find herself trying not to stare at his lips, wondering what he's saying to himself under his breath.

Her name gets called for her drink, and she drops some change into the tip jar on the counter and glances at the guy again as she turns to leave. His head is still bent over his camera. She leaves, calling out a thanks to the baristas as she goes.

He looks up at her voice, but she's already got her back to him as she heads for the door.

... ...

It's more crowded than usual when she walks in this morning. She and Sam were in Rio for three days, investigating a paranormal lead that ended up going cold, and their flight just got in a few hours ago. Wanda's tired, and coming here in the middle of the morning rush of people trying to grab their coffees and head to work is probably not the best idea. But she couldn't fall asleep after Tony dropped her off at her and Natasha's apartment, so she put on her coat and stepped outside.

He's there in the corner again, sipping his coffee and messing with his lens. She feels herself smiling when it's her turn to order, and then she steps aside to stand at the edge of the crowd of people at the counter waiting for their drinks.

"Need a seat?"

She blinks, snapping her head around. He's looking up at her and grinning.

"Um," she says, glancing away. It'll probably be a while before they'll get around to making her drink. She meets his eyes again and he nudges out the chair across from him. She smiles and sits. "Thanks."

She gets a text from Natasha a moment later, asking where she went, so Wanda types out her reply and promises to come home soon. The guy's messing with his camera again, but the silence between them is actually kind of comfortable, and every so often, he'll glance at her and grin, and she'll smile in return.

Then her name is called, and she stands to get her drink.

"Bye, Wanda," the guy says.

She gnaws her lip a little, glancing at what's written on the side of his cup. "Bye, Peter."

He grins a little wider, and she's smiling the whole way home.

... ...

She nearly drops her water bottle when she's stepping off of the treadmill and sees _him_ stepping into the training room after Steve. He's looking around with wide eyes, taking everything in, and then his gaze settles on her and his jaw actually drops a little, lips parting in surprise. She recognizes the lanyard hanging around his neck; he's getting the official tour of the New Avengers facility.

"Hey," he says, stepping closer to her.

"Hi, Peter." She's surprised that her voice comes out as steady as it does. She's only seen him twice since learning his name, because she's barely been in the country for the last month. If he was wondering why, now he probably knows.

Steve looks between them, eyebrows furrowed. "You two already know each other," he guesses.

"Sort of," Peter answers, giving her a grin. She can't help but laugh.

... ...

A month later, she sends him flat on his back atop the training mats, and he lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. She crinkles her nose (he'll just get more sweat in his eyes if he keeps doing that) but laughs, too. She remembers being in this positition. She never had to depend on hand-to-hand combat before, not with her powers and not with Pietro hovering over her shoulder, keeping her out of harm's way. It took her a while to get into the swing of things, and Peter came onto the team with more physical fighting experience than she had. He's picking things up quickly.

They've been at this for two hours now, after lifting weights and doing cardio beforehand. Her muscles ache and her lungs burn for sufficient air, but Peter still smirks up at her and asks, "Best four out of seven?"

"Bring it, Parker."

... ...

She waits for him at the fountain in the middle of the park, sitting on a bench with her head tipped back and her eyes closed. He's a few minutes late, and she arrived a few minutes earlier than she thought she could, but she doesn't mind waiting. She takes this time to enjoy the feeling of the sun on her face. Winter melts away with every passing day, and this afternoon is the warmest it's been yet.

The sound of a shutter clicking grabs her attention, and she lifts her head to find Peter standing there, smiling at her from behind his camera.

"You're a born model."

She feels her cheeks flush. "Stop," she laughs, standing up. "You're not going to get that developed, are you?"

He shrugs but doesn't answer, and she rolls her eyes, purposefully bumping into his shoulder as she passes.

They spend the day walking around the city, and it takes twice as long to get anywhere, because he keeps stopping her to take pictures. This elderly couple calls them cute, and she blushes a bright pink and chuckles politely in response, a breeze making her hair fall all around her face. Peter takes a picture of that, too, but with his phone. She finds this out later, when she sees it set as his wallpaper.

... ...

"So, you and Peter."

"Natasha," she says, and maybe it sounds like a bit of a whine, but whatever. She doesn't want to talk about this. Natasha would never judge her, and Wanda knows that she can go to her with anything and everything. They don't always talk when they sit on the couch under the same duvet like this, swapping Netflix picks, but she kind of had a feeling Natasha would bring Peter up at some point tonight. Natasha is nothing but nosy, and she's been digging around for answers for weeks now, because she wants to know what the hell is going on between them.

(Wanda would like to know, too.)

Natasha shrugs, not taking her eyes off of the screen. "He's cute," Natasha says. Wanda gives her a look. "He looks at you a lot."

"No, he doesn't," Wanda argues, and she takes a sip of her hot chocolate to hide her grin because, yeah. She's noticed that, too.

... ...

The thing about her powers is, sometimes she gets into these trances. She sees bits and pieces of her own memories, her own nightmares, and she'll see bits and pieces of visions she's given other people. Sometimes she'll even see parts of their own memories, their own dreams and fears. It's overwhelming, all of this emotion flooding over her all at once, and the first time it happened, Steve touched her shoulder and she saw herself looking through his eyes, holding on tightly as a flurry of snow swirled around and metal snapped and a man fell into the white.

When it happens with Peter, she sees flashes of blonde hair and blue eyes, spinning gears and a tall tower. She watches a woman fall, hears Peter's cries echoeing through the air, and then Wanda feels Peter's hands get pried from her shoulders. Her vision snaps abruptly back into reality and she gasps for breath, face wet with tears. She turns to look at Peter, but he's practically curled into himself, head in his hands, shoulders moving up and down as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Are you alright?" Steve asks, smoothing his hand over her back.

She swallows hard and nods, letting Steve pull her closer. She can hear Natasha murmuring things to Peter a few feet away, and Wanda presses her face into Steve's shoulder and closes her eyes.

... ...

They're in the weight room two days later when he says, "Gwen Stacy."

Wanda looks up. They're sitting on opposite ends of the same bench, and he's not even looking her direction.

"She was my girlfriend," he adds after a moment. "I'm not… I don't think I'm ready to…"

He trails off. She just nods, even though she knows he doesn't see it, and doesn't say anything.

... ...

On her birthday, she kneels in front of Pietro's grave and messes with the flowers she bought for him and she gnaws at her lower lip and tries to figure out what to say. As soon as she says the words out loud to her brother, it becomes too real for her to ignore, and that's what she's afraid of. She wants her brother. He always knew what to say, and he's had more experience with these kinds of things than she has. It's hard to remember what their life was like before the missile, and the experiments, but she, vaguely, remembers how the girls in their neighborhood used to fawn over him. He's probably never been in her shoes before, but she just knows that he would still say all the right things to help her, and she knows that she could believe him.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she exhales.

She can hear him laughing at her.

 _That's called "falling in love", little sister. Happens to the best of us_.

... ...

She's distracted and doesn't turn around in time to see the Hydra agent rushing at her until she feels his rifle being slammed into her gut, knocking the wind out of her as he gets his hands around her neck and lifts her up, boots scraping against the ledge as he holds her over the edge of the mountain base they'd been scoping out. She's barely catching her breath when he lets go, and an all-too familiar scream rips through the air as she's dropped, her stomach swooping as the air and the mountainscape rushes by.

Peter follows her in seconds, gets his arms around her, and she clings onto him too tightly as he manages to spin them around and get a web onto the side of the building. He swings them around, sending them tumbling into the snow on the side of the mountain, but they're _alive_ and _not_ falling to their death anymore, and her whole body shudders at the snow pressing into her back. She wants to laugh out in relief, but Peter's taking her face into his hands and bringing her close, his lips desperate against hers as he kisses away what little breath she managed to catch. Her cheeks are wet, but whether it's with her tears or his, or both, she's not sure. She can't find it in herself to care, either.

When he pulls his lips away, he kisses both of her cheeks, and then her forehead, and then the bridge of her nose, and then he presses his face into her collarbone. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her skin is numb, but her blood is thrumming, and something flares inside of her. She pushes her gloved fingers through his hair and they just stay like this for a long moment, waiting for their breathing to even out.

... ...

They lay her down on the infirmary bench of the quinjet on the fly home, an ice pack pressed to the tender spot on her head. She must've cut herself on a rock during their tumble to safety somehow, because there was blood in her hair and that one spot on her head was throbbing a little. They wrapped her and Peter up in layers of blankets and made them drink three cups of tea, and she thinks she's finally got the feeling back in her fingertips. Steve and Natasha fuss over Wanda and Peter for a good half hour until they're pulled away by the others to speak with Nick and Maria, and then it's just the two of them back here.

"I'll be here, you know."

He looks at her, eyebrows furrowed. She smiles, and, somehow, she knows that he catches onto what she's talking about. He takes her hand in his, gripping onto her fingers tightly as he nods. This is the closest they've come to talking about Gwen, and them, for the first time, but she doesn't feel nervous at all.

"I'll still be here when you're ready," she says, and he brings her hand up and kisses her knuckles, like he knows how many different promises that is in one.

... ...

She gets put on bedrest for a few days, just as precaution, and that first night, Peter shows up at her and Natasha's apartment with two cups of coffee in hand. Natasha lets him in on her way out to meet Steve, and Peter grins widely as he takes in the nest of blankets she's made for herself on the couch.

"Need a seat?" she asks, eyes twinkling.

He chuckles, sets their coffees down before sinking into the couch. She reaches over, yanks his beanie off and then ruffles his hair.

"Hi," she says needlessly.

"Hey," he replies, tucking his hand over her cheek, and she leans in closer as he brings their lips together.


	20. Steve/Natasha - "Take a deep breath."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're already in love, and they already have forever. If he wants the vows and she wants the white dress and the veil and the nine yards, too, there's nothing wrong with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **for:** an anon  
>  **prompt:** "Take a deep breath."
> 
> For a drabble meme on tumblr.

It's so, so stupid, honestly, that she feels nervous. She's not even sure if that's what you can call it, because it's not like she's… There's no doubt in her mind at all that this is what she wants. She wants Steve. She loves him, more than her own life, and yeah, she doesn't need a ring and a ceremony and a piece of paper to make any of that "official", but she wants it, and she knows Steve wants it, too. He doesn't have the same dreams of settling down as he used to, but he still has those dreams, and fuck. They're already in love, and they already have forever. They already have James and a house. If he wants the vows and she wants the white dress and the veil and the nine yards, too, there's nothing wrong with that.

There's a knock on the door, and she stands from her chair in front of the vanity when a voice says, "Don't open the door."

Steve.

She breathes out a laugh.

"It's bad luck," he adds, and she can hear a tone of amusement in his words. As if bad luck has ever meant anything to either of them.

Still, she obeys, stepping closer and pressing her palms against the dark wood, rather than prying it open and throwing herself in Steve's arms like she's been itching to do since the guys dragged him away from her last night. (Evidently, spending the night before the wedding together was _bad luck_ , too.) She can picture him standing right outside the door, hand hovering over the doorknob as if to open it himself, despite his own warning.

"Pepper's going to be pissed if she finds out you're here," Natasha tells him. She's only half-kidding, and Steve lets out a laugh like he knows this.

"I just… I needed to hear your voice."

She closes her eyes, smiling widely. "You _needed_ to? That's a bit melodramatic."

But, _god_ , she knows the feeling. She doesn't need to be with him every second of every day, but right now, that's the only thing she wants.

He chuckles, and she feels the door shift as he leans his weight against it.

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," she admits, because she knows he'll understand, even if she doesn't understand it, herself. She's not terrified to marry him. She's not terrified to spend the rest of her life with him, and James. But she _is_ terrified of something, or maybe she's just anxious. Maybe she's just impatient to start the rest of her life with him, as if it hasn't been the two of them all along.

She leans her arm against the door, tilts her head to gently press against the wood, careful to not to mess with the curls Darcy slaved for an hour over.

"Take a deep breath," he tells her, and she does. She can tell that he does, too.

"I love you," she says. She wants to kiss him, right now, right this second.

"I love you, too." He says it so simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, but she still feels the weight of the words. "I'll meet you at the alter."

She smiles. "It's a date."

... ...

He finds her alone, pacing back and forth in the bridal room of the church, the tulle of her huge skirt gathered in her hands so that she's able to move. God, she looks so much like her mother, especially with her hair curled the way it is. Steve doesn't think he'll ever be able to get over that. He has his eyes, though, and yeah, sometimes he'll get distracted by them, by the way her mother's playful sparkle shines in his bright, bright blue as she tilts her head and uses that tone of hers that has everyone wanting to give her the world.

Steve knocks on the doorframe to get her attention, and her head snaps up, eyes wide for a moment before her expression fades into relief.

"Hi, Daddy."

He walks over to her, stands as close as he can get without stepping on her beautiful dress, and sets his hands on her arms. "Hi, baby," he says, squeezing gently. Tatiana presses her lips together instead of gnawing on them like he knows she would, if she weren't wary of smudging her lipstick right now. "Are you nervous?"

"No. Yes? I don't know," she says, all in one breath.

Steve chuckles. "Well, as long as you're sure."

She hits his arm and lets out a laugh. She also looks like she's a second away from crying. He'll always, no matter what the reason, _hate_ the thought of her crying.

"I love him," she says after a moment, meeting Steve's eyes. "I really do."

"I know you do," Steve answers. "That's why we're here."

"Then why am I so nervous?"

"Who knows?" a voice says, and Steve's smiling as he watches Natasha walking in through the door. She meets his eyes and winks, and Tatiana reaches a hand for her mother, which Natasha takes and squeezes gently. "I was a wreck before your father and I got married, even though I knew there was nothing in the world I loved more than him. Being nervous doesn't mean you're having doubts."

Tatiana nods a little. Natasha pulls her close, tucking her daughter into her arms. Steve smiles at them.

"Take a deep breath," Natasha tells her, and Tatiana does, hugging her mother a little tighter as she inhales and exhales slowly. The tension in her shoulders eases away, and few more breaths later, she's completely calm. "Does that feel better?" Natasha asks.

Tatiana nods.

"Come on," Steve says, taking her hand in his. Natasha smiles and Tatiana squeezes his fingers. "Let's not keep everyone waiting."


	21. Steve/Natasha - Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd decided to do Fourth of July and his birthday as just a quiet dinner to themselves, because there's no way in hell they'd be able to be in public for a few hours without someone recognizing Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** mild NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~2,100  
>  **for:** an anon   
> **prompt:** "in which they have a secret relationship […] and since Bobbie knows Natasha she sees that there is something between her and Cap […]" ([full prompt](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/118049477105/can-you-write-a-romanogers-in-which-they-have-a))

She slips into the dress Pepper paid for when they were shopping downtown last week, because Natasha didn't want to drop that much on _one_ dress, but Pepper has never had any qualms with spoiling her friends every now and then, or all the time. (She and Tony are so perfect together.) It's backless and navy blue with lace sleeves, and ever since she saw it on herself in the dressing room, she's been picturing how Steve would react—and of course he didn't disappoint. She'd barely had a chance to appreciate that _look_ he got in his eyes before he was stepping into her apartment and kicking the door closed behind him, a hand in her hair (it's a good thing she didn't try to style it up) as he brought their lips together.

They'd decided to do Fourth of July and his birthday as just a quiet dinner to themselves, because there's no way in hell they'd be able to be in public for a few hours without someone recognizing Steve.

Also, no one knows they're even dating, so there's that.

Neither of them has made it official – because neither of them needs it to be – but there really is no other word for it. Half of his clothes are in her dresser, and he has a toothbrush next to hers on her sink and his own scent of shampoo in her shower, and the character mugs Sam keeps gifting to him for no reason are sitting in her cabinet.

He's the first person she sees in the morning and the last person she sees at night, whenever neither of them is away on missions, and she wants it to stay that way.

"Natasha, stop," he breathes against her lips, grasping her wrists between them.

She pulls away, just enough to meet his eyes, furrowing her eyebrows at him. She's trying to undo his belt and she's not really seeing what the problem is.

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss to her forehead, which is something he does sometimes, whenever she makes faces at him. "It's my birthday remember," he says, which sort of makes her want to laugh.

"I know." She tries to move her wrists but her grips a little tighter, his lip curving up into a bit of a smirk. (She _loves_ it when he gets that look.) "I want to give you your present."

"That's not what I want." She quirks an eyebrow and he chuckles again, kissing the corners of her lips, and then bringing a hand up to grasp her chin with his fingers when she turns her head to kiss him properly. He's such a tease. "That's not what I want _first_ ," he corrects, stepping them backwards until the small of her back is pressing against the edge of the island counter. He moves his other hand between her legs, fingers ghosting over the inside of her thigh as he slowly traces upward, gathering the hem of her dress around her hips.

He presses their foreheads together, looking down between them, and breathes out a laugh as he takes in her white, lace panties.

"Red, white, and blue?" he guesses, releasing her chin and combing his fingers through her hair.

She slips her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. "Happy birthday, Steve," she says, and he holds her gaze for a long moment before slanting his lips over hers. He kisses her a little slower, a little gentler, than he has all night, and for a second, she forgets what they were in the middle of doing. All she wants is to kiss him.

Then she lets out a little noise of surprise as he suddenly wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her up and onto the counter, pressing the palms of both his hands to each of her thighs, pushing her legs apart. She sets a hand against the cold granite for balance and uses her other to trace her fingertips along his face, over the apple of his cheek, along the underside of his jaw, smiling at the way his eyes flutter ever so slightly at her touch. Her cheeks are flushed, and it's not even entirely because of what she knows he's about to do.

Sometimes, like right now, the way he just _looks_ at her is almost too much for her to handle. She's never had anyone look at her the way Steve does.

"What do you want for your birthday?" she asks.

"You," he says, easily, kissing the underside of her jaw. He trails down the column her throat, along her collarbone, while he slips his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips up to help him slide them off, and he kneels down as he tugs them off.

He presses a hand to her knee as he sucks over the inside of her thigh, and she tips her head back, letting out a sigh.

"I don't recall it being _my_ birthday," she breathes, pushing her fingers into his hair and tugging him closer.

He chuckles, breath warm against her skin before he works over her slowly, drawing these little whimpers from her throat. She knows this is the part he loves most about being with her, physically. He loves taking his time, teasing her (he's _such_ a _fucking tease_ ), making her fall apart in a way only he's able to—and she knows it's not some sort of possession thing with him. He loves the way she tugs at his hair almost painfully, the way she rolls her hips against his mouth and his hands, the way she bites her lower lip to try and muffle her own whimpers, before relenting and chanting his name over and over again. (Yeah, he told her all of this one morning, when she was laying in his arms, still trying to shake off her sleep.)

(It didn't take her much longer to wake up after hearing that in her ear, though they didn't end up leaving the bed until noon.)

" _Steve,_ " she murmurs as he presses his fingers into her, and he lets out this little grunt, moving through her folds a little faster and faster. A warmth pools through her, skin flushing, and she feels her hand braced against the counter start to shake as she tries to keep her balance.

"Yes?" he asks in this nonchalant tone, like the little shit he is.

She tugs at his hair and he lets out a laugh, glancing up at her with a bit of a smirk on his face that looks strangely similar to that dopey smile of his. "Do something," she orders.

"I am," he mutters, and then brings his other hand up, thumb passing over her nerves. Her hips shift off of the counter almost automatically.

"Do something _more_ ," she breathes.

He makes this noise that sounds like a laugh, but also a little like a groan. Then he closes his lips around her, curls his fingers, and her voice peels through the air, her nonsensical sounds stuttering as he works her through her high. It drags out because of it, hips twitching against his mouth, and she feels like the arm propping her up is about to give out.

She whimpers, tugging him away from her as she says, " _Stop_ , Steve, stop," and tries to catch her breath.

"Need a moment?" he asks.

" _Ass_ ," she mutters, but she tugs his hair again, motioning for him to move.

He stands and she slides off of the counter, and her legs are in no way ready to hold her up in her stilettos after, well, _that_ – but she just leans against the island for support as her hand comes between them, grasping the waistband of his pants. "You sure you don't need a moment?" he asks, and (this time) it's just not him trying to be smug. He wants to be sure she's caught her breath, because he's got that dark look in his eyes and that low tone to his voice, and she knows what it means. Thank _god_ he's not a prude like Tony jokes.

She licks her lips and grasps onto the buckle of his belt. "Are you sure _you_ don't, soldier?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

He kisses her, _hard_ , and she works his belt undone and then smirks against his lips when she dips her hand below and he sucks in a breath.

"Natasha," he groans, nipping at her lower lip, and she breathes out a laugh as she curls her fingers and—

Her phone rings.

They both sort of gasp in surprise, tensing, and the second that she registers the ringtone, she tips her forehead against Steve's and mutters a curse in Russian. She put her phone on silent so that only emergency calls could interrupt their evening, and this is one of them.

Steve grunts a little and leans across the counter to grab her phone, slides to answer the call and then presses on the speakerphone.

"What's going on, Tony?" she asks.

"We got a hit on supernatural activity in Costa Rica. Hydra's definitely involved, could be more experiments." Steve catches her eye, nodding, and he heads for her room to grab their gear as she hops off of the counter and starts to peel out of her dress. "They haven't caused any scenes but Hill says they're dangerously close a large civilian population."

"Good, then we still have time to get down there with little to no casualties," Natasha says, mostly to herself as Steve reappears, tossing over her suit.

"Contact Rogers for me—I know it's the guy's birthday, but we need to bring in the big guns, and I've still got to reach Wanda."

"See you in ten," she replies, and Tony grunts in response before the line goes dead.

... ...

Bobbi comes to stand beside her as they're strapping on their parachutes, a knowing smile on her lips, and Natasha arches an eyebrow. She's not really a field agent right now and Natasha doesn't blame the woman for wanting an out after what she'd been through, but she just couldn't stay away from the business. (Natasha doesn't blame her for that, either.) She runs back-up for special operations like tonight's, when they really need an experienced agent to call on, but for now, she covers transportation and monitors operations behind the scenes. Natasha's not going to pretend that she doesn't think Bobbi will want to be back in the field eventually, because it was the same way with May, but she won't bring it up.

"What's up with you and Steve?" Bobbi asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall beside Natasha.

Natasha shrugs her shoulders, tightening one of her straps. "What do you mean?"

Bobbi tilts her head. "Don't play that with me," she laughs. Natasha glances around, but no one seems to be paying much attention to them, not even Steve, who's chuckling at something Peter is telling him and Wanda. "You want me to believe it's a coincidence that you two arrived at the exact same time?"

"We do live in the same apartment complex," Natasha reminds.

Bobbi hums, unconvinced. "It's not the first time it's happened, especially in the last three months."

"We carpool," she replies, winking at Bobbi. "You know, Wanda and Peter carpool, too. Do you think they're sleeping together?"

"Well, first of all, they _are_ sleeping together." Natasha raises her eyebrows, tilting her head. Bobbi grins. "I'll tell you about that later, because, second of all, I mentioned nothing about anyone sleeping together. Aren't you supposed to be a better liar than that?" Bobbi asks, stepping closer and nudging her with an elbow.

Natasha rolls her eyes, feeling her lips twitch into a smile. "Spend enough time around Steve and even the best liar will start to feel guilty," Natasha says.

"God, look at you," Bobbi says with a laugh. "I've never seen you like this before. None of us have." Natasha meets Bobbi's stare, and Bobbi winks. "We can all tell, honey. I don't know why you guys are even trying to hide from us to begin with."

"Maybe we just want to you guys to keep from prying," Natasha says, but then she grins at Bobbi to let her know she's teasing.

Bobbi holds her hands up. "Okay, okay," she says. "No more prodding. But as soon as the cat's out of the bag, you're answering _all_ of my questions."

Natasha shrugs, but before she can reply, Peter suddenly says, "Wait, it's your _birthday_ today?" and everyone turns to look at him and Steve. Steve's got his lips pressed together like he's trying not to laugh, but then Peter goes, " _Captain America's_ actual birthday is on the Fourth of July?" and then they're all laughing.

"Unfortunately, yes," Steve admits.

Peter shakes his head, amazed. "That's incredible," he says, still laughing. Wanda giggles behind her hand. "Did you have anything special planned?"

"Yeah," Steve says, and he's not even glancing in her direction, but she can still tell that the smirk on his lips is all for her.

(She can't wait to get home.)


	22. Peter/Wanda - angry kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a difference between being careless and simply not caring what happens to herself if it's for the sake of someone she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** an anon  
>  **prompt:** "angry kiss"
> 
> For a drabble meme on tumblr.

He's still pissed. She knows that much, even if she can't (won't) look at his face. People like to think that her powers make her untouchable, which... they couldn't be more _wrong_. She's capable of frightening things, things no one could even imagine, but she's still very _human_ , especially in body. She breaks and bleeds just as much as the next man. That's nothing to be ashamed of, and that's certainly not a disadvantage, but it's something she needs to be aware of. It's something she _is_ aware of, every day, when she looks in the mirror and sees her brother's smile in her eyes, staring back at her through the reflection. For all of her life, Pietro seemed untouchable. She could focus on herself, worry about herself, all because she knew her big brother would be there to keep everyone away. He was too quick for anyone to get to him, and yet...

She _knows_ she's human. She knows she can't be careless with her life, and Peter tells her that all the time - but, there's a difference between being careless and simply not caring what happens to herself if it's for the sake of someone she loves.

It's not careless if it saves a life.

They weren't sure what to expect when Steve sent her and Sam to sweep the Tibetan village where a foreign signature was picked up. She hadn't been anticipating danger, and she certainly hadn't been anticipating another Hydra lab - a lab like the one she and Pietro were hidden in - to be in the area. They weren't expecting a fight, but that's what happened, and it ended in her taking blade to her side. It was meant for Sam, his back turned to the Hydra agent as Sam had been trying to get back to his feet, and if she hadn't stepped in the way, that blade would've gone right through his throat...

She doesn't regret it. Not at all. She did what she was supposed to do.

Peter thinks otherwise.

"You could have died," Peter says, voice low.

She's sitting on the edge of her bed in the apartment she and Natasha share, and it's the first time she's been home since she left for Tibet with Sam over a week ago. Peter drove her home, and even when she'd been in the hospital, he dropped by every day to visit. Logically, she knows this must mean he can't be _that_ mad at her, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. He hasn't said more than two words to her at a time, has barely looked in her direction, and she _hates_ it.

He's washing his hands in her ensuite, after he helped change her bandaging as Helen directed, and for a moment she swears he didn't say anything at all.

Then he continues with, "You should've known better," and her fingers curl around her duvet.

It sounds vaguely like what the doctors and scientists would tell her when she'd gone through their experiments and tests. "Don't talk to me like that," she warns, and finally - _finally_ \- looks at her, expression fairly neutral. "I am every bit of an Avenger as you, Peter. I can make my own choices."

"They don't have to be stupid choices!"

She doesn't jump, but she does flinch, a little bit. He's never, _ever_ raised his voice at her like that.

"It was not _stupid_ ," she starts, standing - and Peter takes two quick strides towards her, arms already out as if to steady her - "to choose to save my friend, _our_ friend!" She feels her throat close a little, and her vision blurs with tears she'll be damned if she sheds. It's exhausting, all this tension between them, and she wants it to end. She doesn't want to fight with him. "You would have done the same thing!"

"I would've had a better plan than _jumping in front of a blade!_ "

His voice cracks a little, but neither of them reacts to it. "It happened too quickly for that, Peter!" She feels her fingertips begin to warm, and she's upset, but she's not upset enough to lose control of her powers. Not in this moment, at least. "There is no planning in a moment like that! When your friend's life comes that close to ending, there's only reacting!" His jaw flexes, but he holds her gaze, eyes still harsh, and somehow, that makes things worse. "I don't know why you're so upset with me over this! Steve and Natasha have done the same thing for all of us countless times, and Sam would have done the same for me if it were the other way around, and you would want that, right? So what is so different about this time? Why are you - "

He grasps her face in his hands, too quickly for her to register, until his lips are on hers and he's kissing her. It's urgent and desperate, and after so many days of him keeping her at arm's length, she's thrown, but mostly just overwhelmed by his scent filling her space and the sensation of his thumbs smoothing over her cheeks. He's kissing her so hard that she's seeing stars, and her hands come up between them, grasping onto his jacket and gripping the material between her fingers too tightly.

When he finally breaks their kiss, he presses their lips together once, twice more, and she draws in a stuttering breath, lungs burning for air.

She's looking up at him, but his eyes are closed as he presses his forehead against hers. "Peter," she breathes, but he shakes his head and kisses her again, and again, until she tilts her head away. She doesn't want to - not at all - but... "Peter," she says again.

He exhales slowly. "I can't lose you, alright? I _can't_."

"Peter - "

"I know you can't make me any promises, and I... I wouldn't want you to do that, okay? You're going to make your own choices, and you're going to do whatever it takes to save your loved ones, and that's _terrifying_." His eyelashes are wet with tears when he opens them to meet her gaze. He swallows, hard. "I can't lose you, Wanda. I can't. I can't - I'm not..." He shakes his head. "I can't go through it again."

She feels her heart squeeze. She blinks, vision blurring with tears.

"You understand, right?" he asks, and she's already nodding, gripping onto his jacket a little tighter. "If something happens to you - "

"Nothing will," she interrupts. He opens his mouth, probably to protest, but this time she's the one shaking her head. "Peter, I didn't... I didn't jump in front of that blade not _caring_ if I would die. I was _terrified_." She tilts her head, pressing their lips together again, slowly, savoring. "We've both lost too much. We need to _live_ for them." (She knows he knows who she's talking about.) “We have a whole future ahead of us.”

He nods a little, and then kisses her again.

"I want to live it with you," he says against her lips.

"That's what I was planning, Peter Parker."


	23. Steve/Natasha - exhausted parents kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he called up Tony in the middle of the night asking if his kids ever had an aversion to orange foods, the guy probably wouldn't offer anything helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **for:** [sunnie91](http://sunnie91.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "exhausted parents kiss"
> 
> For a drabble meme on tumblr.

"Tatiana, baby, _no_."

Steve scoops his daughter up with one arm just as she's about to get her hands on the glass of apple juice on the coffee table. No doubt James left it there, even though they remind him, _constantly_ , about keeping breakable, spillable things out of his sister's grasp. Tatiana has this thing about throwing whatever she can get her hands on and they have no idea where it came from since James never went through that, but according to the internet, it's a pretty common thing that toddlers do. And yes, he looked it up online. He's not about to base his parenting on popular opinion, but he likes being able to read about other people's personal experiences. He gets that from talking to his friends, too, but still. If he called up Tony in the middle of the night asking if his kids ever had an aversion to orange foods, the guy probably wouldn't offer anything helpful.

Tatiana squirms in his arms, trying to wiggle her way out. She absolutely _hates_ being held nowadays, unless she's ready for a nap, or trying to get someone to carry her so she can reach for something up high. " _Down_ , Daddy!" she says, twisting in his grip, and he squeezes her a little tighter and kisses her sloppily on her cheek, which always makes her giggle.

"It's time to get ready for bed, sweetheart," he tells her.

She shakes her head, smiling widely. "Want apples, Daddy!"

He groans a little, settling her at his hip. She's been doing this more and more lately, asking for food right before she knows she's supposed to go to sleep. He let her get away with it the first few times because... well, what if she really _was_ hungry? Unless they strap her into her high chair, she hardly ever finishes her food because she's always getting up and playing. It's totally possible she could be genuinely hungry, and he hated the thought of not believing her and making her go to bed without feeding her.

Natasha told him to stop being such a softie. Tatiana is one hundred percent them, so of course she'd try to avoid going to sleep, even when her eyelids can barely stay open. Letting her snack one last time before bed means that she'll be up again in the middle of the night, and he absolutely can't bring himself to just sit and listen to her cry over the baby monitor in her room, and when she does that, she wakes James up, too. And James is even clingier than his sister if he's up before he wants to be.

He's his mother's son, after all.

"James!"

Speaking of which...

He jogs over to the hallway bathroom, then pauses in the doorway when he sees Natasha standing up from where she was sitting on the edge of the tub, giving James his bath. The entire front of her shirt is _soaked_ , and some of the water and suds James must've splashed on her is also on the tile, pooling quickly and wetting the rugs. Natasha meets his eyes, one eyebrow arched, and he brings a hand up and scratches at the back of his head.

"James," he says, and the boy's eyes are wide when he looks at his dad. "We tell you _all the time_ not to splash during your bath."

"I'm sorry," James practically whispers. The thing about James is that it's impossible to be mad at him. He never, ever does things like this _on purpose_ , and every time he's upset his parents, he always looks like he's about to cry. Sometimes he does. Tony likes to say that he's just faking it to get out of a harsh punishment, because his kids try to pull that on him and Pepper all the time, but Steve can tell that it's not the same with James. James is a good kid. He means well. He's just easily excitable, and he genuinely feels bad for upsetting his parents.

Bucky says it's karma for "the crap" Steve has put him through their entire lives.

Steve _kind of_ gets what the guy might be talking about.

"Then stop doing it, baby," Natasha says, grabbing a towel from the cabinet. He stands without having to be told and lets his mother pat him dry, and then she kneels down in front of him to ruffle his hair. "I know you just want to play, kid, but you're stronger than you think, and you'll keep getting stronger the bigger you get. You need to be careful about that, okay?"

He bobs his head in a nod. "Yes, Mommy."

James has gotten this lecture more than a handful of times, but that's fine. He's a _kid_. They need to be reminded of things all the time, and sometimes he might huff and make faces when he's being told things over and over again, but this has always been the one thing he won't show attitude about. From the beginning, Steve and Natasha have tried to prep him about his developing abilities, and it seems to have worked. It's cute and kind of hilarious when someone so little can lift smaller but still sturdy pieces of furniture with relative ease, and it's all fun and games when they're tossing a ball between each other from like, forty feet away, because James has such a strong arm. But he also knows that this is something he _has_ to be careful with.

"Daddy's going to dress you for bed and then Mommy will be there to tuck you in, alright?" she tells James, wrapping him up in his towel.

She stands again, reaching for Tatiana, but Steve pauses and glances over her.

She rolls her eyes, grinning. "It's just soap and water, and she needs to be changed, anyway."

"Alright," he says with a laugh, shifting Tatiana into her arms, who lets out a _squeal_ when her mother's wet clothes touch her. She's giggling, trying to wriggle out of Natasha's arms the exact same way she just tried with Steve, but Natasha just hugs her tighter as she walks out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

Steve grabs another towel from the cabinet and throws it over the puddle, and then says, "Let's go, bud," to James, who bounces out of the bathroom after Steve.

James stands still and lets Steve rub lotion onto him, and then pulls on his Captain America ( _ha ha_ , Clint) pajamas. It's still kind of a mess in here, probably from when he was playing right before Natasha called him in for his bath, so Steve has him clean up his room while Steve cleans up in the bathroom. He can hear Natasha's voice drifting from Tatiana's nursery, and it puts a smile on Steve's face as he drains and rinses the tub and then wipes the tiles dry. One of the few things that will make Tatiana stop and sit still is when her mother speaks Russian. Steve knows the feeling. He loves just listening to her voice, to the rhythm of the syllables rolling off of her tongue. Even if he has no idea what Natasha is saying, it still feels comfortable, familiar.

Steve dumps the damp towels into the hallway hamper and then walks back into James's bedroom, coming to stand beside Natasha as she pulls the blanket over James's shoulders. He's got his teddy bear tucked under his chin - the same teddy bear Steve won for Natasha at the fair years and years ago, before they'd even started "dating." She ended up keeping it, and kept it clean and in good condition, so it just ended up in the bassinet with James when they brought him home from the hospital. It's been his bear ever since, though, he's already starting to grow out of it, or at least out of holding it anywhere other than his bedroom. Steve's kind of looking forward to the day James passes it onto his sister on his own, because that's totally something James would do.

"Goodnight, babe," Natasha says, pressing a kiss to James's cheek.

"Sweet dreams, buddy," Steve tells him.

James mumbles something - probably _I love you_ or _goodnight_ , but it's a little hard to tell - back to them, but he's already drifting to sleep. That's one of the perks about James and Tatiana being such energized little kids: they're passed out as soon as their heads hit their pillows at the end of the day. Natasha stands and slips her hand into the crook of Steve's elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walk out of James's bedroom, leaving the door cracked just a little behind them.

Steve stops in the middle of their hallway, grasping onto the belt of her bathroom robe (she must've pulled it on just to get out of her wet clothes) and pulling him flushed to his chest. She looks tired - they both are - but there's still that twinkle of hers in her eyes as she stares up at him from under her eyelashes. She's still the most beautiful person he's ever met, and though he never, ever questions her feelings for him, he still wonders every day how the hell he got so lucky to end up with her in his life - with her, and James and Tatiana, at the _center_ of his life.

He _loves_ it.

"Parenting, huh?" he asks, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

"Think we're way in over our heads?"

She's got one eyebrows raised, and the corner of her lips tugged up into that _smirk_ of hers that he fell in love with way too quickly.

"Nah," he says, tilting his head down and pressing their lips together. He feels her sigh, melting against him, the way she only does when it's the two of them like this. There are very, very few people she truly shows her exhaustion around, but he's the _only_ person who gets to see her like this - with a yawn on her lips but a triumphant glimmer in her eyes, eager for sleep, but also eager for spending the next day with her family. He nips at her lower lip and then pulls back a little, a smile spreading on her face as he adds, "It's gonna be fun."


	24. Steve/Natasha - slow-dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiles, because she hasn’t really been able to stop all day. It’s the cheesiest thing in the world, but whatever. It’s fine. It’s her wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** "Imagine your OTP slow-dancing to a love song, with Person A quietly singing the words in Person B’s ear."
> 
> So much fluff it will _smother you_. Seriously, there’s no plot to be found.

"Hey," he says softly, reaching for her hand, and she slips her fingers through his and squeezes gently. He tilts his head so that she's looking into his eyes and she smiles, because she hasn't really been able to stop all day. It's the cheesiest thing in the world, but whatever.

It's fine. It's her wedding day.

 _Their_ wedding day—she gnaws on her lower lip, glancing down at the bands on their fingers, glistening underneath the huge chandelier overhead. She can hear the chatter filtering from the ballroom and can only imagine the amount of people that must be on the other side. She knows the guest list, of course, but she's only ever seen it in pieces. Even when they were doing the seating arrangement, Pepper divided it by sections – but Natasha remembers when they'd toured the venue. It's _huge_ , and Pepper chose it specifically because it was one of the few places in the city that could accommodate this many people. Thankfully, the ceremony itself was more private, but there was no way that Captain America and Black Widow were going to get married and not have a grand reception. But she doesn't mind and of course Steve doesn't. He's wanted a big celebration since the beginning, because he's crazy like that.

(It's one of the reasons she loves him so much, so that probably makes her crazy, too.)

He pulls her close – as close as he can with the skirt of her huge dress between them – and presses his lips to hers. It's probably meant to be quick, but as soon as he starts to pull away, she leans up and kisses him again, smiling against his lips.

"Can't leave you two alone for a second, can I?"

Steve chuckles, leaning away as Pepper slips out from the ballroom. "Well, you kept us waiting. Had to find some way to entertain ourselves."

"Save it for the honeymoon, you've got a lot of guests waiting." But she's grinning too widely to actually be upset. Then she pauses, glancing down at Natasha's dress, and smiles even wider, if possible. "Oh, Natasha, look at you," she exhales, pulling her in for a hug. It's kind of awkward, since Steve is still holding her hand, but Natasha still hugs her back.

"You act as if you haven't seen me in this all day," Natasha laughs.

"Well, it doesn't mean you're any less beautiful every time," Pepper replies, but before Natasha can reply, Pepper grasps her arm. "Are you ready?" she asks, feigning a whisper.

"Yeah," Steve answers. Natasha tilts her head to meet his eyes, smiling. "It'll be fun."

Pepper nods, and they follow her towards the huge double-doors as Tony pokes his head through. "Yeah, can we hurry it—oh, good, they're ready," he says all at once, reaching for Natasha's hand as he switches the microphone off to Pepper. "Just got your _four hundred guests_ to settle down and we've got about ten seconds to do the introduction, so smile!"

Natasha chuckles, but then Pepper switches on the mic, walking back into the ballroom, and Natasha's lost count of how many times she's held her breath today.

But it's not because she's nervous.

She's _impatient_.

"Now," Pepper starts, voice clear and bright. "I can't tell you how long I've been waiting to do this, so it has to be perfect." The crowd laughs, and Steve squeezes their joined hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce to you, for the very first time – Mr. and Mrs. Steve and Natasha Rogers!"

The doors are pulled open as the room erupts in applaud, and Steve leads her forward with ease, her huge dress sweeping behind her as they enter the ballroom.

The ballroom is _huge_ , and _filled_ with people, and maybe it's a little strange, but she's not all that overwhelmed. It's a little odd, considering how much she didn't like big crowds, and commotion, and so much attention on her, but this time is different. This time, she has Steve, and they've always made a great team. What's there to be overwhelmed by?

The first faces she sees are at the head table. Wanda's cheering, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, and beside her, Sam and Bucky whistle loudly. Clint has a huge smile on his face. Helen has her camera phone aimed at them as she waves, and Maria grins widely, eyes shining brighter than Natasha's ever seen them. Natasha brings her hand up, gingerly wiping at the corner of her eye (because Darcy's nearby in the crowd and _will_ snap at her if Natasha smudges the girl's handiwork). Then she turns her head and her eyes fall on the first table on the edge of the dance floor, where Laura and the kids are seated with Sharon and Nick. On Nick's lap, Baby Nathaniel bounces excitedly. He looks so ridiculously adorable in his little tux.

Steve slows them to a stop in the middle of the dance floor, facing the crowd, and the applause seems to grow a little louder, if possible.

Natasha isn't sure how long the cheering goes on until Pepper steps into her peripheral, but then she's gesturing for everyone to quiet down, and the crowd dissolves into quiet. Pepper glances over her shoulder at Natasha, winking, and Natasha grins.

"And now, Steve and Natasha will share their first dance."

"Not our _first_ ," Steve says, low enough for only her to hear, and she breathes out a chuckle as she turns to face him.

"Don't ruin the moment," she whispers, even though she doesn't think anything could do that right now.

He chuckles softly, slowly pulling his hand from hers as the piano starts, and she drapes her arms around his neck as his hands settle over her hips. He draws her closer, their chests flushed together. She wonders if he can feel her heart beating like this. He probably can, and the thought is comforting now more than ever. Because she focuses on him – his breath warm against her bare shoulder, his hair tickling her skin as he leans his head against hers, his scent filling her space – and then it's only the two of them in this moment. Even the melody has faded into the background, no louder to her ears than her own heartbeat. She grips the material of Steve's tuxedo between her fingers, holding him as close as possible.

And then, his voice, quiet but strong against her ear, starts singing along with the track:

" _What would I do without your smart mouth?_ _Drawing me in, and you kicking me out. You've got my head spinning…_ "

"Oh, god," she breathes out on a soft laugh.

She can practically hear him smiling. " _What's going on in that beautiful mind?_ "

"If you make me cry, I swear," she says, though the way her voice quivers takes any attempt at firmness from her tone. She doesn't care.

" _Don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright. My head's underwater, but I'm breathing fine_." She hugs him tighter. He lifts his head, meeting her eyes, and her heartbeat stutters. " _'cause all of me loves all of you_ — _love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections_."

"Steve," she breathes. He presses his forehead against hers, and her eyes flutter closed as she lets out a breath.

" _You're my end and my beginning. Even when I lose, I'm winning_ — _'cause I give you all of me_ ," he sings, and she presses her lips together, " _And you give me all of you_ …"

She sets her hand against his face, kissing him softly, slowly, and then laughs against his lips a little as the crowd dissolves into a content sigh, with a few faint cheers. She feels like she could cry in any second, and her eyes are already watering with tears, even though it's kind of silly, but he… He's _singing_ to her during their first dance, holding her close, and yet, a very, very small part of her still hasn't quite caught up with today – to the fact that she's married to Steve, and that Clint got to walk her down the aisle in her beautiful dress, and that Nick got this gentle tone she's never heard him use before as he officiated the ceremony. This small part of her still can't believe that Steve chose _her_ , of all people, to spend the rest of his life with. Never, not once, has she ever dreamt of anything like this. Not even in the illusions they'd fed her in the Red Room of a beautiful young woman with a bright future ahead of her.

Being in love with Steve is the most comfortable feeling in her world, and falling for him came so easily that she hadn't had a moment to really think about it – about how quickly her life has changed since he came into the picture.

She's never loved anyone the way she loves Steve, and she's never going to need anyone more than she needs him. The thought should be terrifying, but… it _isn't_.

"Hey," he breathes, bringing a hand up to wipe a tear away. She hadn't even noticed that she finally started crying. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head a little, cradling the back of his neck as she brings their foreheads together. "I'm happy," she says.

"Oh," he whispers, lips tugging into a wide smile. "Well, there's nothing wrong with that at all." She shakes her head again, hugging him a little tighter. "You scared me for a second—thought I was just that bad at singing."

She breathes out a laugh. "Only a little bit," she teases. "Just don't quit your day job, Rogers."

He hums in acknowledgment, squeezing his hand over her hip as he replies with, "Whatever you say, _Mrs. Rogers_."


	25. Steve & Wanda - "Stay there. I’m coming to get you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her voice cracks a little over the line, and it's enough to make his heart stutter, because shit. He knows she's crying, or just was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** an Anon   
> **prompt:** "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

"Steve?"

Her voice cracks a little over the line, and it's enough to make his heart stutter, because _shit_. He knows she's crying, or just was.

Getting a call in the middle of the night isn't anything new. It'll always, every time, freak him out a little—because he knew it had to be an emergency. It was never officially stated, but they just don't make personal calls to each other after midnight, and pretty much for the purpose of knowing that a call that did come that late would be important. So, yeah, he was already alarmed to hear his phone go off at one in the morning, and to see Wanda's number – her personal number – was even more unsettling. He knows she's had it this whole time just in case, but she's never called him before. There's no need since they're always together, and if she had something to tell him, it could always wait until the next time she saw him.

Evidently that's not the case tonight.

"Wanda, what's going on?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm alright," she says, practically whispering. He can barely hear her. "I just… Can you come get me? I went out for a drink and I—I don't think I can walk home."

"Yeah," he replies immediately, throwing off his covers. "Yeah, of course. Do you know where you are?"

"The bar we went to after Pietro's burial," she answers quietly, and he closes his eyes. So that's what this is about. He kind of had a feeling.

"Stay there. Okay?" He's already walking out of his room, snatching up his hoodie where he'd tossed it onto the back of the couch. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

He zips into his hoodie and stuffs his feet into his running shoes and tells Wanda to stay on the line with him until he gets there. She hums softly in acknowledgment, and then hiccups a little, and shit. She really has been crying. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen it, but still. She's usually so cheerful that it just breaks his heart to see her upset.

Luckily, the bar she's at is only a few blocks over, so he manages to job there in fifteen minutes.

She's sitting alone at the bar, with the bartender wiping the counter a few feet away from her, but the woman keeps glancing over at Wanda every few seconds in a way that tells Steve that she's been keeping an eye on her. Wanda is slumped forward, leaning most of her weight on the counter, and she has her head in one hand and her empty glass in the other. She looks like she could be sleeping, that's how still she is, and Steve feels his heart squeeze in his chest. _God_ , it's just not right for her to look so _sad_ , but he can't keep it from happening.

Steve heads over to her, and for a moment, the bartender looks alarmed. But then Wanda lifts her head slightly and smiles a little when she sees him, so the woman relaxes.

"Hey," Steve says, brushing her hair from her face. She leans her head into his palm, closing her eyes. Yeah, she's definitely been crying. He can tell. "Wanda," he whispers, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek, and her eyelids flutter open to look up at him. "What happened?"

She presses her lips together, sets her glass down and slides it away. "Today is our birthday," she says, so softly that Steve almost doesn't catch it.

He… doesn't know what to say.

She brings a hand up, wiping at the corner of her eye. "The dates on our files that you recovered—they show the day we enlisted, and then the year of our birth, but they didn't really care for our actual ages," she explains, exhaling an empty laugh. "Said it wasn't a factor in how the experiments would take, so they left it out. That's why none of you knew."

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, sitting on the stool beside hers. The bartender retrieves Wanda's empty glass and Steve gives her a brief smile in thanks, handing her a few bills to cover Wanda's drinks.

"It's my first birthday without him. I didn't want to spend it with anyone else." She ducks her head, shrugging her shoulders. "But after it turned midnight, and I found myself _alone_ —"

"That was the last thing you wanted," he guesses. She squeezes her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her cheek, and he brushes it away. "Hey, hey," he whispers. "It's alright."

She blinks a few times, eyelashes dotting with tears as she finally meets his eyes. "Thank you for coming, Steve."

"Of course." He stands again, sliding his hand over her back. "Come on. You can stay at my apartment, so you're not by yourself. Okay?"

"I… I still don't know if I can walk all the way there."

"I know," he says, and then turns around so his back is to her and adds, "Get on."

She cracks a bit of a smile, and, okay, maybe it's not the first time they've ever done this. It's not a big deal with his enhanced strength, and Wanda weighs almost nothing, anyway.

She places her hands on his shoulders as she lifts herself onto his back, then drapes her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. It makes her hair tickle his neck, but he doesn't mind. She barely fidgets the entire walk, which is kind of the opposite of how she was every other time they've done this—with her always moving, pointing to this and that as she chats right next to his ear—but he knows she must be tired. He actually thinks she falls asleep, but when they reach the building, she leans over to press the button for the elevator.

He shuts the door behind them once they're in his apartment, and he walks them to the bedroom, letting her slide off. He opens his closet, pulls her something to change into. "You can take the bed," he tells her, handing her the clothes. "I'll sleep on the couch."

He moves to step back, but then she grasps onto his forearm, and he meets her eyes. She blinks, as if surprised by herself, and starts pulling her hand away. "Sorry," she says.

He curls his fingers around hers, squeezing gently. "It's alright," he tells her, holding her gaze. "I'll just be right outside."

"Okay," she breathes. Neither of them move for a moment, and then she lets out this little noise, wrapping her arms around his chest. "Thank you," she mumbles into his shoulder, and it's automatic, the way he brings an arm around her, cradling the back of her head as he presses a kiss to her temple. She hugs him a little tighter.

"Of course," he says. "I'm with you 'til the end."


	26. Steve/Natasha - drunk/sloppy kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throw Tony Stark into the picture and things get interesting. Get a few drinks into him and then it gets fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [seaductress](http://seaductress.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "drunk/sloppy kiss"
> 
> For an askbox meme on tumblr. Posting this from the dumpster I now belong in. I just couldn't resist.

It takes a lot to get her drunk—another side effect from what they'd done to her in the Red Room, because a higher tolerance keeps her senses sharp. But she's never really batted an eye at it before, because it's not like she _can't_ get drunk. She still can.

It just takes harder liquor and larger doses. Half a dozen beers will get a nice buzz going. A few shots will speed things up, and the only reason she found this out was because she and Maria wanted to (it's _always_ beneficial to know your limits, so you know what you can work with). Otherwise, the extent of her drinking for pleasure is a glass of something dark to unwind from a mission, a drink at lunch with Pepper and Maria once a week, a bottle of wine to catch up with Laura, a few beers when she watches a game with Steve—all fairly harmless doses.

Throw Tony Stark into the picture, though, and things get interesting. Get a few drinks into him and then it gets fun.

(And, okay, he's definitely calmed down a lot more thanks to Pepper, she'll give him that. He just likes to cut loose a little, and he wants all of them to do the same. And there really isn't anything wrong with gathering his closest friends and a hundred other people in the penthouse for a night of finger foods and an open bar with the finest alcohol money can buy.)

(It's great.)

Her first drink is something fruity that Pepper hands her half an hour into the party. Then she shares a cocktail with Maria that has a lot more liquor than it does alcohol, which neither of them have any complaints about. Then Sam's favorite song comes on, and he pulls her onto the dance floor and then takes her to the bar so they can do shots, and barely even an hour later, she's having a round of Girls Only round of shots with Pepper, Maria, Wanda, Sharon, Laura, and Helen. They totally draw a crowd and Tony takes way too many pictures of them, but whatever. And then Clint points out that Wanda and Pietro have never officially celebrated their 21st because of the experiments, so that's another round or three of shots that she's in.

Mixing alcohol, especially lights and darks, is a tried and true method to get you drunk faster. It also almost guarantees that you'll be nauseous later, so she orders a glass of water and makes herself comfortable next to Laura on one of the couches, since the woman's taking a break from drinking, too.

The crowd starts thinning a little before 2:00, and by 3:00, everyone else is gone, and it's just them lounging on the couches around the coffee table.

She's sitting on Steve's lap, because she got up to use the bathroom and came back to find him in her spot next to Laura, so she made herself comfortable, took a sip of his beer and picked up her conversation with the woman about Clint's latest home improvement project. Steve didn't even blink at the interruption. It wouldn't be the first time Natasha's done it.

"You know," Laura says, grinning at the two of them. "This is probably the most PDA that I've seen from you guys in the three weeks you've been _officially_ together."

"He kisses my cheek all the time, and holds my hand," Natasha points out. "You've seen that."

"Yeah, but considering _this_ "—Laura gestures between them—"has been over two years in the making, I'm just saying. It's kind of anticlimactic."

"It hasn't been _that_ long," Steve corrects at the same time Clint declares, "I'll drink to that!" Natasha narrows her eyes. Clint clinks their beers together and takes a gulp.

"She's got a point," Pepper chimes in. "We were all expecting a little more."

"Is our relationship that important to you?" Steve asks. But he sounds more amused by this than upset.

"Yes," Sam replies, flashing his teeth in a smile. Natasha chucks a throw pillow at him, which Maria deflects. Sam holds his hands up. "I'm just saying. After all of the unresolved sexual tension that we had to sit through, and all of the pep talks of getting you two to ask each other out that got ignored, we figured there'd be a bit more, you know—explosions."

"You can say sex, Sam," Darcy says flatly. Pietro _laughs_ , throwing an arm around her as he reclines. Wanda flushes, giggling into her hand. "What? We're all adults here."

"We're not discussing our sex life with you perverts," Natasha tells them. Steve presses his lips together like he does when he's trying not to laugh.

"No one said anything about _that_ , because _gross,_ " Tony interjects, making a face. Pepper elbows his side lightly. "I mean, yeah, we're all adults here, but—no. Not interested in hearing how great our dear grandpa over there is in bed, thanks, anyway. But, come on. _Some_ visual confirmation would be appreciated. How do we even know you two are even together?"

" _Tony_ ," Helen hisses.

He shrugs his shoulders, but keeps his gaze locked with Natasha's, because he's always loved pushing her buttons the most. He's also more likely to get a reaction out of her than he would from Steve. They like to act like children with each other and everyone knows it.

She arches an eyebrow in return. This entire conversation is a little ridiculous, if she's being honest. It's also a little hilarious that their friends are so nosy. Not that that's new.

The thing is, though, is that she's definitely had more to drink than she has in a while. She's not _drunk_ just yet, but she's definitely buzzed, and – to no one's surprise – she gets ballsy when you put a little more alcohol in her than usual. It doesn't help that she's just naturally competitive, and stubborn, so you can't just expect her to turn away from a challenge.

"Fine," she says, because, in her buzzed mind, this is the only logical conclusion to come to after this conversation. "Here's your proof."

And then she twists in Steve's lap, placing a hand on his cheek as she slants her lips over his and kisses him.

He makes this little noise from the back of his throat, caught off guard for the slightest of seconds, but then one of his hands flattens over her leg, drawing her closer as his other hand tucks into her hair. There's a whistle or two in the background, but it's distant to her ears as he sucks onto her bottom lip, then pulls his hand from her hair and grasps her chin with his fingers, tilting her head as he presses his tongue between her lips. She whimpers. He tastes like dark liquor and it makes her senses a little fuzzy. She forgets why they started kissing.

Then someone – Clint – calls out, "Get a room!" and she pulls away a little, feeling a laugh bubble out of her. Steve grins against her lips.

He kisses her again, chastely, and she slowly pulls away, making herself comfortable again. Then she turns back to Tony, expression straight as she asks, "Well?"

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Message received: no more prying. Though, I did enjoy the show," he adds with a wink, because he still likes to be an ass like that sometimes.

"A little too much, darling," Pepper says, patting his cheek. Everyone laughs.

The conversation shifts as Darcy asks Maria and Sam about their vacation in Cabo, and Natasha smiles, curling herself a little more against Steve's chest. He presses a kiss to her hair and rubs his hand over her back, and she hums, tilting her head back to kiss the underside of his jaw. "Better get your sleep now," he tells her softly.

"Why's that?" (But she smirks, already knowing the answer.)

"Still got a few things I want to prove to you back in our room," he says, and she gnaws on her lower lip, smiling widely.

"Sounds like a plan, Soldier."


	27. Steve/Natasha - playing hookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sure as hell needs the rest. She just doesn't like that she has to be directed to take the day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **for:** [ice326](http://ice326.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "Steve needs to go to work and Nat's not clear for duty because of an injury or something from a mission (nothing really bad), So she just wants Steve to stay at home and just catch up on paper work, not leave the house and play hookie? :)" + inspired by a [photo](http://40.media.tumblr.com/f417cec61eea344250ea34d382229a10/tumblr_n48e6hsznB1s708xso2_500.jpg) of Scarlett Johansson

She hates being put on bed rest. Mostly because she knows that Nick will only give the order if it's necessary, so there's not much she can do to get out of it.

That doesn't mean she has to like it. At least this time it didn't result from something critical—just a bullet to her shoulder from an extremely lucky shot, but also a close enough range that the thing got in pretty deep. They'd needed to put her under before they could dig it out. She's fine, and she'll make a full recovery, but obviously she can't put any strain on it just yet. Well, she's not _supposed_ to, at least. She's operated just fine with injuries before, but only because the situation made it necessary. If she has the luxury to take it easy and fully recover then she should. That's what Nick says, and she understands the logic. She sure as hell needs the rest, too. She just doesn't like that she has to be _directed_ to take the day off.

What can she say? She's stubborn.

And it's not that she minds staying home. It's that she minds staying home _alone_ , which is kind of ironic, now, considering she spent so much of her life keeping everyone at a safe distance. That's the thing about Steve, though. He sort of fits into your life as if he's always just _belonged_ there and it becomes hard to remember what it was like without him.

Since they moved in together (well, she moved himself into his apartment, but whatever) she's never had to worry about finding herself alone all the time.

She was kind of hoping that would be the case today, especially now that she's on bed rest. Steve just isn't cooperating.

"Natasha," he laughs against her lips. They were sitting on the couch, him going through files and her flipping through channels in hopes of finding something to watch, but of course nothing interesting was on. So she scooted herself onto his lap and kissed him, just because she wanted to. He certainly didn't complain.

She hums in acknowledgment, twists a little so she can straddle his hips. He makes this low sound, slides one hand over the small of her back, pressing her closer.

After a moment, though, he tilts his head back, parting their kiss. "I have to leave soon," he reminds.

"No, you don't."

He chuckles, his breath warm against her face. She's not joking and he probably knows this. He doesn't even _need_ to go into the facility today, but he's been looking over all of the new recruit files over the past few days, and she knows he wants to talk to Maria and Nick in person about assigning their supervising officers. Natasha's almost always included in meetings like that, though, even if she's not officially listed in any position of authority. But considering she's still on leave for another day or two, he shouldn't have to worry about any of this yet.

"You know, we can't make it a habit of not going into work just because you don't want to leave the house," he points out, brushing a kiss against the corner of her lips.

 _Whatever_. He's idly skimming his thumb over the waistband of her panties (it's warm, and she didn't feel like pulling on shorts) the way he does when he's about to take them off, or is planning on it, somewhere in the near future. He's not really fighting her on any of this.

"Yes, we can. You're the _boss_." She tilts her head a little, grasps his wrist and drags his hand underneath the hem of her tank-top. "You get to do whatever you want."

He quirks an eyebrow, brushes his fingertips over the ticklish spot on her side, and she lets out a squeal, gripping onto his shoulders.

" _Ass_ ," she breathes. He chuckles, and she feels the low rumble of it with the way their chests are pressed together. "I'm trying to be sexy for you right now."

"First of all, you don't have to _try_ to be sexy. You just are." He grins at her, eyes twinkling. She smiles and shakes her head. "Secondly, you're only doing all of this to get what you want. Which is unnecessary considering we _always_ do what you want." He says this with an exasperated tone, and she laughs and kisses him softly, slowly, lips languid the way she knows he's in love with. She knows he's just teasing. (Well, not about the _sexy_ part. He tells her, every day, how beautiful he finds her, and not just for her looks.) They have always been very much concerned about being equal in this relationship, which is easy, because they've always made a great team. Everything is mutual, decided together, with equal pleasure on both ends.

If she's just really good at convincing Steve that what she wants will be something he wants, too? Well, that's really not her fault.

She's good at negotiating. Steve never puts up much of a fight, anyway, just like with right now.

"Alright, soldier," she says, pulling away a little. "I suppose you can pick what we do, just this once." He chuckles softly, smoothing his hand over her thigh. "What do you want?"

He hums, pretending to contemplate as he brings his hand up, brushing his fingers through the length of her hair. It's getting longer, because she wants to grow it out. Steve having a thing for her hair being long is just a perk. "What I really want," he says slowly, eyes sparkling, "is to stay in this apartment, cook a nice meal, and lounge around with my girlfriend."

She smiles, drapes her arms over the back of the couch and presses herself entirely against him. "I suppose I can pull a few strings," she says, slanting her lips over his.

He grins into the kiss. "Encouraging me to skip out on my responsibilities. You're a terrible influence."

"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, Rogers."

" _Absolutely_ ," he says, not missing a beat, and then hooks an arm around her waist and lifts them up. She lets out a laugh, legs locking around his hips, and he peppers kisses along the column of her throat as he walks them into the kitchen. He sets her down on the edge of the counter, kisses her lips again. "How does breakfast for lunch sound?"

"Sounds perfect," she replies.

He grins, goes to retrieve her phone off of the coffee table, and then gets started on the pancake batter while she texts Maria. The girl will probably just assume this means they're just skipping out to have sex, but Natasha doesn't care. It wouldn't be the first time, and she wouldn't be wrong. (Lazy afternoons in bed are Steve's _favorite_ , so yeah, that's what they'll be doing later.) And she knows the reason Maria and Sam came home from their assignment in Milan a day late was because they were making good use out of their shared hotel room, so.

He rinses off a bowl of strawberries for her to snack on while he cooks, but then pauses to watch as she takes that first bite, licking the juices off of her lips.

"Don't burn my bacon," she orders. He laughs, poking at a strip with the tongs. "You should shape my pancakes into cats," she tells him.

"Whatever you want, babe," he says. She leans over to press a kiss to his cheek, and, okay. This bed rest thing isn't _too_ bad.


	28. Sam/Maria - photo inspiration of Cobie Smulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s got a really, really pretty laugh. He ought to try to get her to do it more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~2,400  
>  **prompt:** [photoshoot](http://41.media.tumblr.com/45d6d9bc7b553edbff61cec802cabe07/tumblr_norajinT1f1r05bkco1_500.png) of Cobie Smulders

There's a farmers market held every Tuesday and Saturday in the parking lot next to Whole Foods, just a few blocks down from their apartment complex, and he's wanted to check it out for a while now. It's not even because he's all that conscious about how he eats. He generally tries to be healthy, and he cooks rather than orders in if he can help it, but he's not counting calories or anything, either. Things taste a lot better when they're bought fresh like that, though. And sometimes you find things there that taste a whole lot better than any version you find in the stores. He remembers going to one in Washington D.C. and getting some jam, and it ended up being the best jam he's ever had. Maybe that'll happen again.

Maria lets out a laugh when he says this to her. He smiles. She's got a really, really pretty laugh. He ought to try to get her to do it more often.

"Sounds fun," she tells him, sounding sincere. They're in the cafeteria, sitting opposite of each other at the same table – her half is _covered_ with medical files, but they only cover _her_ half, like she's still trying to be courteous to his space. It's sweet. It's also kind of awesome how she can pour over all of those records and still hold a proper conversation with him.

"What about you?" he asks. They both have tomorrow off, their first _full_ day off since New Avengers operations started, and that's why he mentioned the farmers market.

She hums, penning something onto a Post-It and then sticking it onto a folder. "Nothing planned," she answers. "I was just going to catch up on some laundry."

"What? I for sure thought you'd have this whole itinerary for the day or something."

"Funny," she says, glancing at him with a bit of a smirk.

He chuckles, takes a bite out of his burger. (One of the best he's ever had, to be honest. The catering here is amazing, thanks to Tony Stark and all of his connections.) Then he swallows and says, "You should go with me," and feels a little stupid for not inviting her right away. She pauses, meeting his eyes. "To the farmers market," he adds needlessly.

"I – don't want to intrude," she says, and there's something _else_ to her voice. Something he's never really heard before, but he can't place it right now.

"It's not intruding if I'm inviting you," he points out, swiping a French fry through some ketchup and then popping it in his mouth.

She presses her lips together, and for a second, he thinks she's going to politely decline. But then she gets this little smile on her face and he sort of just blinks at her, feeling a little bit speechless, the way he had when they first met in the back of that armored van.

"Okay," she answers. "Sounds like fun."

... ...

It's already starting to get warm out by the time he's finished his morning run, so he showers, pulls on dark shorts and a white button-up, then grabs his Ray Bans off of the kitchen counter when he gets a text from Maria to meet him at the lobby in five.

She's already there when he's stepping off of the elevator, standing near the front doors. The sun is up, light sliding through the glass and catching the glittering specs in the marble floors, and she has her head tipped back a little, eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth of it. He can't really help but smile. He's spent enough time around Maria to know that no, she isn't always business, all the time, if she doesn't need to be. But he knows he's never seen her _this_ relaxed before. And, in the back of his mind, he wonders how many people have.

She turns her head as he approaches, smiles in greeting as she adjusts the thin strap of her purse draping from her shoulder. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he answers, pushing the door open for her to step through. "Did you want to – grab coffee or something?" he offers. He could kind of go for anything iced right about now, but the farmers market starts in a few minutes, so if she wants to head there right away, he doesn't mind, either.

"That'd be great, actually," she says.

They find a Starbucks on the way over and he slips a $20 to the barista before Maria can get her wallet out. He knows he feels a little too proud about it, but - it's _Maria_. Someone beating her to the punch for _anything_ has probably happened only a handful of times.

They circle the whole farmers market at least three times, mostly because they were too busy talking the first and second times to pay any real attention to what the vendors were selling. But then she notices an elderly couple selling a basket of mixed, homemade muffins, and Maria buys it for the private break room that the Avengers share on the office floor (usually for breakfasts). She also gets a few dozen apples and a few boxes of strawberries, which makes Sam smile, because he knows that Wanda was craving those just last week.

"What's that?" he asks with a bit of a laugh. He left to buy them bottled waters from the front and comes back to find her with a jar in hand.

"Your jam," she says like it should be obvious, adding it to her bag (which he's carrying, because he's a gentleman). "Who knows? Maybe it'll be even better than that first jar."

There's a twinkle in her eyes as she says this, and, not for the first time today, he thinks that hanging out with her like this more often is something he'd definitely be into.

... ...

And that's how farmers markets kind of becomes their thing.

It's not really a standing date, though. Well, he doesn't call it that. And even though there're two every week, they go maybe once a month, twice if they're lucky. Days off are hard to come by in their line of work, especially when the two of them are as high up in the system as they are. Maria basically runs the place. She could very well give herself more time off whenever she wants and no one would object, because she does so much, practically pieces everything together behind the scenes, and she sure as hell deserves a break. But she won't give herself one. That's just the kind of work ethic she has. He knows the feeling. He appreciates the days off whenever he gets them, but you'd never find him requesting one.

She walks into the break room one morning when it's just him, and it's kind of ridiculous, since the only reason _he's_ here this early is because he just got back from an assignment. He still has to make his way to his office and fill out the report, but he's _starving_ , so he came in here to grab something to eat first.

"Hey," he greets as she makes her way over to him at the Keurig. He grabs a mug for her from the cabinet, switches in a new packet and presses the button to brew.

"Thanks," she tells him, but her eyebrows are furrowed as she eyes the stitching on his arm. It's wide, practically from his shoulder to his elbow. "Ouch," she says.

"Yeah," he admits, because it _hurt_ and he's not going to pretend like it didn't. "It'll be good as new in no time, though."

She smiles, reaches across to grab the sugar. "Lucky me, then," she says. "Can't have my bag boy out of commission with the farmers market just around the corner, can I?"

... ...

He comes home from this one with another jar of jam (delicious, but still not _the one_ ) and a few cases of blueberries. He was planning to get some for his pancakes, anyway, so it's really just a huge coincidence that blueberries happen to be Maria's favorite fruit.

And then, when he can't really get himself to sleep one night, he switches on the kitchen light and Googles a recipe for blueberry scones off of his phone. This is less of a coincidence (or like, none at all, because Maria always has scones with her coffee, and maybe he picks this specifically because she'd enjoy it more than a muffin or something). He leaves them to cool after he's finished washing off his dishes and has, finally, tired himself enough to get some sleep, and then he packs them up into a Tupperware to take with him in the morning.

Everyone loves them, which is great.

The satisfied little way Maria licks the crumbs from her lips after that first bite? That's even greater.

... ...

Natasha catches onto his feelings for Maria before _he_ even realizes they're there. Well, he knows they're there and have been for a while, but he's busy and so is she, and so far he's gotten away with not thinking about it much. But Natasha slips it into their conversation so easily that it takes a moment for him to wrap his head around what she's just said.

Also, they're in the middle of sparring, and she has him flat on his back with her knee pressing into his gut, so there's that.

"You alright?" she asks, but he closes his eyes, taking a second to catch his breath. She kind of just threw his world upside down (literally).

After a moment, he pats the mat, and Natasha grasps his hands and helps him onto his feet. "Damn," he breathes.

She grins, but that teasing sparkle of hers isn't in her eyes this time, so he knows she's being sincere when she says, "It's cute. You two are cute, which isn't a word I use lightly to describe anything associated with Maria." Sam nods a little, glancing around. She's talking lowly, and the others are spread out far enough across the gym that he doesn't think they could eavesdrop from their spots even if they tried. But still. "I'm sure you're very aware of this for yourself, but I'm going to say it, anyway: you ought to just go for it. Ask her out."

He raises his eyebrows. "Could say the same for you," he reminds, and she tilts her head, gaze sweeping across the gym until it lands on Steve.

"I know," she says kind of softly.

He wants to press the matter a little more, like he always does whenever it comes up, but he stops himself before he can. He thinks he's got a better idea, anyway.

... ...

"Sure," Steve replies when Sam invites him to the farmers market on Saturday. He told Maria to invite Natasha this morning, and Natasha agreed, too, so that's good. Sam doesn't really have some grand plan, but he thinks these two just need some kind of _push_. He doesn't know what that's supposed to be just yet, but he'll talk to Maria. They'll figure it out.

"Great. I'll let Maria know," Sam says, then snaps his wrist, chucking the football towards Steve. The guy catches it with one hand. "Show-off!" he calls out.

Steve laughs, spinning it in his hands. "It's nice, you and Maria," he comments.

"Feels nice," Sam admits. "It feels natural with her, you know? I mean, I still don't know too much about her, but I know that I like how she is whenever we hang out."

"That's the part that matters," Steve tells him, throwing the football and then setting his hands on his hips. "The details won't matter that much so long as the connection's there."

Sam nods. (It's kind of hilarious how wise Steve sounds right now, even though he's not following his _own damn advice_ when it comes to Natasha.)

"You should ask her out," Steve adds, after a moment.

Sam grins. "That's the plan."

... ...

There's a knock on his door Sunday morning, and Maria is standing there, waving her phone in her hand as she announces, "Mission accomplished."

She's wearing jeans and has her hair clipped up in this messy bun and doesn't have any make-up on. It's the most casual he's ever seen her dressed, because, even when they go to farmers markets, she's in a simple skirt and a nice blouse and she has her hair smoothed down in just the right way. And he's not really sure if he's dazed by the fact that she looks so _beautiful_ like this, or the fact that this is the first time she's showed up to his door without a file to hand him or a mission to whisk him away on, or the fact that, in reply to Maria's text asking what she and Steve did after the farmers market, Natasha typed a simple " _a little bit of everything_ " followed by a wink-face emoticon that still makes Sam feel the need to blush.

"Right on," he laughs, stepping aside to let her in. She walks in, slipping out of her sandals, and settles onto the carpet next to his coffee table as he goes to get her a mug.

He just finished making a batch of blueberry pancakes, too, so he stacks them onto two plates, splashes some milk and sugar into her mug of coffee, and then adds a plate of bread rolls and a jar of jam onto the tray before carrying it into the living room.

"Thank you," she says as he sets her coffee onto a coaster and slides it over to her. He knows how she takes it by now, but he still watches in his peripheral as she takes a sip and then licks her lips, making this satisfied little sound at the taste. "Who knew a simple little outing is what it took for those two to get together?"

He grins, tearing a bread roll open. "Sometimes it's the little things that make the most impact, you know?"

"True," she agrees, slicing a roll open for herself with a bread knife. She uncaps the jar and swipes on a layer of jam. "Over time, a little always goes a long way."

"Exactly," he says. They're having two conversations in one here, and the way she's smiling at him tells him that she's as much aware of this as he is. She hands him the jam, and he swears there's this _look_ in her eyes when his fingers brush against hers. "Think this is the one?" she asks, glancing at the jar.

He _laughs_. "Oh, I know it is."

... ...

(And it is the _best_ jam he's ever had. Whether that's because of the taste itself or because he gets to lick it off of Maria's lips, he's not entirely sure. It's probably both.)


	29. Bucky/Helen - "What are you doing?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a hand against his face, thumb smoothing over the stubble of his cheek, and a voice in his ear, gentle but commanding: “Stay with me, James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** inspired by a [scene](http://salazar-keli.tumblr.com/post/80457470009) from _How I Met Your Mother_
> 
> Tried out a bit of a new style to drabble these two.

He doesn't know what she sees in him, why she spends so much time with him.

She, since the beginning, has never been afraid of him, not in the slightest. She may be the only person other than Steve that didn't tense a little whenever he entered a room. Not that he could blame the rest of them for being wary. He – he remembers everything he's done over the years, remembers every life he's taken, ever look of fear people have stared him down with, and he's not sure whether that makes him more of a monster or less of one. But he barely remembers his life before the experiments. He thinks that's what haunts him the most about all of this: seeing all of those pictures, hearing all of those stories, and not recognizing himself in any of it. There was nothing left of his old life to even be saved.

But Steve is stubborn, and _that_ he's starting to remember, little by little. Steve gives him space, but he doesn't give _up_. And because of him, neither do the others.

They warm up to him too quickly, accept him too easily, even after everything The Winter Soldier did, and yeah, he gets the logic. He gets that all of them have their ghosts, and all of them have taken lives. They're all kind of haunted when you pick them apart, but they're actually pretty great together, and he understands how Steve got through it all.

So – yeah, things are better. He's getting the hang of this decade, and each day feels a little less like he's just getting by and a little more like he's _living_ in it.

And Helen helps with that. She helps a lot, actually.

He barely remembers how they met. He was being wheeled into medical, a gash across his front and blood wetting his skin, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, convinced he was pretty damn close to dying all over again. He wanted to. He just wanted all of it to _end_.

But then there was a hand against his face, thumb smoothing over the stubble of his cheek, and a voice in his ear, gentle but commanding: "Stay with me, James."

She saved his life. He knows that much for sure.

And he knows, now, that she's not a doctor – not the _operating_ kind, anyway – but she's the reason he's here today, healed and healthy, and he has her intellect to thank. She doesn't just theorize and research. She _creates_ , and calculates, and turns her visions into machines. _Miracles can't produce the results that science can_ , she likes to say, trailing her fingers gently over the metal of her newest invention, and it's beautiful how much she loves her work. She gets this sparkle in her eyes and says things in this soft voice like she's afraid to break the atmosphere of the moment, and she does that same thing when she gets to work on his arm for the first time. She's fascinated, almost giddy as she tells him to do this and then that as she takes notes and murmurs things to herself in Korean. (That's when he can tell that she's particularly excited about something, but she doesn't even notice when she does it.)

She's so _alive_ when she's in her element, and it radiates onto everyone around her. It's great.

"James," she says. He blinks slowly, feeling himself smile.

That's the other thing: she calls him by his name, his _real_ name, and it feels… _nice_. Everyone else calls him Bucky, because that's what Steve calls him, and no one questions it. But she's always called him James, for whatever reason – because that was the name she read off of his file, she'd told him, and he supposes that makes sense.

But she continued calling him that even after learning his nickname, and no one questions that, either. He certainly doesn't. He thinks it's the first thing that's made him happy that he didn't feel the need to question. She calls him James and he loves how it sounds, coming from her and only her. _James_ , she snaps, pressing his (injured) shoulder so he'll sit still while she stitches his cut. _James_ , she breathes, curling against him at the end of a long day in the lab. _James_ , she hisses, nudging his hand off of her thigh where it's hidden under the table.

" _James_ ," she says again, with a bit of a laugh. She's standing a few steps ahead, under the glow of the streetlight as they're walking home from the restaurant.

Well, they're walking back to her apartment, which is kind of his apartment too, now that half of his stuff is there instead of the place he shared with Steve. The stars are bright, and the air is crisp, but as much as he loves to just walk with her in quiet, he can't wait for them to get home. She'll write the date on top of their boxed leftovers before sticking it in the fridge, drop her clothes into the hamper next to their bedroom door and crawl under the covers. The fact that she only wears a pair of panties and one of his shirts to bed is probably why she ends up burrowing into his chest in the middle of the mattress for warmth every night, but a little cold never bothered him, and at least this way she's not hogging all of the blankets.

"You're a million miles from me right now," she tells him.

She has to raise her voice a little, because of the distance, and it's something she doesn't do often.

But she still does whenever she's particularly distressed, and that's almost always because of him. Because he comes home banged up and bruised from missions, and she presses her lips together and doesn't look him in the eye as she cleans out his cuts and stitches him back up. She speaks a little softly sometimes, or doesn't always talk, and it's a nice change from the chaos that comes with being part of the Avengers – but _this_ quiet is unsettling, and he'll always, every time, rather her be pissed and vent at him than completely ignore him.

So he'll grasp her chin in his fingers and urge her to look at him, and she doesn't yell, but she'll snap his name and string a few sentences together in Korean.

And he doesn't understand any of it, not in the slightest, but he understands _her_. She lectures him to be safer, to act smarter, even though she knows that he does, that he's not just tossing around his life. Because he _has_ a reason to come home and that's her, and she knows that. Of course she does. He tells her that every time. But the idea of anything happening to him terrifies her, and once she's done talking in circles, she'll blow out a breath and tuck herself against his torso, wrap her arms around him and press her face into his chest, and he'll feel like _shit_ every time. It can't really be helped because of what he does – what they all do – but that doesn't mean he's alright with putting through every time he has to suit up.'

"I'm not that far behind," he points out.

"I meant your thoughts. You've been distracted." She's smiling, though, so he knows she isn't bothered by this.

He smiles, glancing her up and down. He takes in the little curve of her lips, the way she blinks her long eyelashes at him, the fairness of her skin under the starlight.

She's beautiful – _so beautiful_ – and sometimes he still can't see why she chooses to be with him. He doesn't dwell on it, though. She's too good for him, and he thinks she knows that, or at least knows why he feels like that. But her feelings for him are genuine. She believes in him, and he's not going to question her just because he has doubts about himself.

Every moment he's with her is a moment he forgets about The Winter Soldier, a moment he doesn't ache to remember his old life, and it's amazing.

She's amazing.

"What are you doing?" she asks, amusement touching her expression as he just _looks_ at her for a moment.

"Remembering this," he says. Because, while he doesn't think he could forget anything about her, about being with her, he's not taking the chance.

Her smile widens a little, eyes sparkling, and she holds out a hand. "Come here," she tells him, and he does, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He threads their fingers together, brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles, and she grips onto the front of his shirt with her free hand, tilting her head up. "Want something else to remember?"

He's kissed her so many times before, but he savors each second, just in case.


	30. Steve/Natasha "'I almost lost you' kiss"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as he gets out of this alive, she's going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **for:** an anon  
>  **prompt:** "'I almost lost you' kiss"
> 
> For an askbox meme on tumblr.

" _I love you_ ," he breathes, his end of the line completely quiet, except for the static of the faulty connection, and her heart _stops_.

She wants to kill him.

And as soon as he gets out of this alive, she's _going_ _to_ _kill him_.

He always does this, and she - she wants to hate him so much for it, but she _can't_ , and that's because she's the same way. She doesn't just toss her life around without a care. She would never choose to save herself before an innocent life, either. So she gets it. _She gets it_ , and that's what makes it so damn hard.

It's not his fault that he got separated from Sam and Tony. It's not his fault that the communications weren't restored fast enough. It's a little bit his fault that he got himself cornered (to give the injured civilians a chance to escape the crossfire, which – _fuck_ – isn't his fault either) and that's the part she's focusing on, because it's the only thing she can be pissed at him about. And she _needs_ to be pissed at him, because if she isn't, she'll have to face the incredibly terrifying possibility that he might not come back to her this time, and she can't—

She _can't_.

"Natasha!" someone – Tony, she thinks – yells, and then arms are around her, metal digging into her skin as she's being held back with as much force possible.

She kicks and struggles, except not _really_ , because the fact is that she could get out of Tony's grip even in the Iron Man suit with ease, but she lets him hold onto her too tightly as Sam grasps her face with his hands and tries to get her to look into his eyes.

"That's a wall of gunfire, Nat. If you go after him, you're _dead_ ," he says. "If any of us go after him, we're dead."

She wants to punch him really, really hard. "If no one goes after him then _he's_ dead!" (Her voice cracks on the last word. No one points it out.)

Sam licks his lips, gives her a helpless look.

That's the worst part of it all – the helplessness. She _hates_ it. She hates him for putting her in this situation. She doesn't _do_ helpless. She gets captured, gets herself out with minimal damage, if any at all, and that's it. It's impractical to believe she can keep things in her control all the time, but things don't stay out of the palm of her hand for very long. But this? _This_ she can't do anything about. Because Sam is right. If she – if _any_ of them – try to go out there and get Steve, they'll be dead. Taking a few bullets is one thing, but trying to go through that much gunfire would just be suicide. So she gets to stay here, safely tucked away, unable to do _anything_ except listen to the wreckage coming from the restored communications.

She _hates_ this.

"Tony, let me go," she says. Her voice is so quiet, so even, that it scares even herself.

Sam presses his lips together. Tony hesitates. "Natasha—"

"Let me _go_ ," she repeats, clipping each word, and, slowly, she feels his grip loosen. He doesn't pull away, and she doesn't pry him off of her, either, so he's sort of just holding her. Sam meets her eyes, his thumb brushing a fraction of an inch over her temple, and she lets it comfort her just a little.

"He's not going to die, Nat," Tony tells her. He can't just make promises like that, but she doesn't bother saying this. She knows this is how he copes.

... ...

The moment happens in a blur.

There's fire, and debris, and a cloud of dust in the air after the building completely collapses. She tries to keep her emotions in the back of her mind (still there, still _felt_ , but not in the way) and she's a little proud, because she manages to do so, for the most part. She helps civilians, pulls injured officers from underneath pieces of dry wall and structural steel, while Tony scans the area for Steve. That part – _thankfully_ – happens rather quickly, and she lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when Tony makes the announcement. His voice is shaking, and if you ask him later, he might blame the shoddy connection. But she knows the same relief collapses over him as it does with the rest of them. She can tell.

They get him onto the helicarrier, and she's barely got him in her line of sight when her vision blurs, and she blinks, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She _hates_ him for doing this to her. She's not going to wait until he's better to make sure he knows this.

"You love me?" she hisses, voice breaking as she grasps onto his face. It's cut and bruised, and there're more bullets in him than she can immediately count, and she's _this close_ to losing it. The monitors read that he's stable – _barely_ – so it's okay that she does this. Which is good, because she sure as hell doesn't want to hold back.

"I do," he rasps. His hand comes up, slowly, fingers closing over her wrist. His grip is surprisingly firm, considering. "I _do_ , Natasha."

"You're an _ass_ ," she snaps. She's pissed. She's so incredibly pissed. She leans down and presses their lips together too quickly. "I'm in love with a _suicidal_ _asshole_."

The ghosts of a smile touch the corner of his lips, and she breathes out a coarse laugh of her own, because, yeah. She's in love with him. They've been dancing around that word for weeks now, and things were _fine_ , floating in the blurred lines they refused to bring into focus. They never needed to say the words because they already know, but she loves him, and he loves her, and that's something she's known longer than she realized it. But she didn't want the words to come out for the first time like this. This is not how things are going to be.

They're not going to be some tragic couple. She _refuses_.

"I could've lost you," she whispers, voice breaking, and before he can even try to respond, she presses their together again. She kisses him longer, deeper, fingers trembling and cheeks wetting with tears, and she really doesn't care that Tony and Sam are still in the room, hovering somewhere behind her.

She kisses him so hard that she sees stars, so hard that she _can't breathe_ , but she doesn't want to pull away long enough to catch a decent breath, either.

"I'm sorry," he gets out. It's so soft that she barely hears it. He musters up whatever energy he has left, captures her lower lip between his. She whimpers. "I love you—"

She cuts him off with another kiss, her thumbs smoothing over his cheeks as he says the words over and over against her lips.

 _I love you, you ass_.

(He'll laugh when she says this later, tucked into his side in his hospital bed, and she'll close her eyes and let the sound carry her to sleep.)


	31. Bucky/Wanda - first meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something so _knowing_ about his stare that it makes her hold her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **for:** [perfectreyofsunshine](http://perfectreyofsunshine.tumblr.com/) and [thoughtfulbearpanda](http://thoughtfulbearpanda.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "them meeting before/during Civil War and they work really well together and everyone can tell they like each other but they deny it. Or/and them bonding over both having Hydra mess with them"

She knows him first as The Winter Soldier.

He's nothing more than a ghost story, something that the doctors and scientists whisper in the hallways when they think she's not paying attention. Or maybe they know she is. Maybe they want her to pay attention, because they know the things they talk about – the stories they share about this weapon they made, one of Hydra's finest creations – will terrify her into submission. And _it works_. Oh, does it work. She presses her lips into tight lines as they poke into her skin, telling her to do this and to do that, digging into her mind as they try to teach her to dig into everyone else's. They treat her little more than a child, and it's frustrating, but she knows what they are capable of turning her into if she doesn't obey them on her own.

"Good, Wanda," Strucker coos, lips curling into that smirk that makes her fingers twitch, itching to slap it off his face. "Very good."

An assassination is being covered on the news – a devastated widow, a mangled car, terrified witnesses that talk about the silhouette of a man with a metal arm.

Wanda takes a breath.

... ...

Steve calls him Bucky, and there is so much affection in his voice that it comforts Wanda.

Bucky isn't mentioned often, and she thinks that's deliberate, but Steve slips up sometimes and his name passes through a conversation. He smiles, and it makes Wanda smile, but she doesn't miss the way Natasha flinches at the name, the way Maria rubs her lips together and Sam gulps down his scotch.

"They're protective," Steve tells her and Pietro. It's just the three of them in the training room today, and they sparred for an hour straight before Pietro collapsed onto the mat in an exaggerated huff. Combat isn't necessarily essential for them to know – not between her magic and Pietro's speed – but Steve insists that they still need to learn this _just in case_ and Wanda can't exactly argue with that. Even if the burn in her lungs and the ache in her muscle suggest otherwise. "Things happened that Bucky was involved in. They're just worried."

"He hurt you," Pietro guesses. It's not a question, but the expression on Steve's face already has the answer.

"He wasn't in control," Steve explains. "But people got hurt. _They_ got hurt, and I can't be mad that they see him the way they do. I care about them too much to."

"But you still care for him."

"Of course I do." Steve gets this faraway look in his eyes, the ghosts of a smile on his lips. "It's Bucky."

... ...

She meets him as James because that's the name on his files, and he repeats it like a mantra under his breath, under Helen's gentle touch in the examination room. Wanda stands across the room beside Steve, eyes fixed on the way his metal arm catches the fluorescent lights as Helen prods at it gently, telling him to flex his fingers and take deep breaths. He obeys, his expression eerily, unsettlingly _blank_ , and Wanda feels something squeeze over her chest as she watches. It would take no effort to peek inside, to read his every thought without him feeling her presence. (She's been practicing, and she's _better_ , and her power isn't as frightening to her as it used to be.) Every part of her is itching to do exactly that.

But then his eyes shift, chin tilting up ever so slightly to meet her eyes, and there's something so _knowing_ about his stare that it makes her hold her breath.

... ...

"Are you afraid of me, too?"

His voice is low, gruff, her ears barely catching the words even as he's standing right next to her. She glances at him in her peripheral, but he's looking forward, eyes trained on the target on the wall. Her hands shake ever so slightly and she takes a breath to steady her grip, pulls the trigger and feels her heart thump at the sound it makes as the bullet lands on the third ring from the center. Not bad, but not great, either. It's a good thing that Maria isn't overseeing her target practice right now, because her progress has been slow at best.

She sets the gun down, slips off the earmuffs. "No," she answers. She turns to him, and this time, he's staring right at her. "None of us are afraid of you."

He holds her gaze. Wanda wonders if this is how vulnerable people feel when she's inside their heads.

"No," he echoes. "I guess not." His lips twitch. " _Pissed at_ might be more accurate."

Wanda presses her lips together, looking away. That's not untrue, but she doesn't want to say as much. _No one_ is saying as much, really, and they don't act like it, either. But the tension is there. It can't be avoided, though they're all rather good at trying, anyway. Wanda knows it's eating at Steve, but he doesn't know how to fix it, either—if it _can_ be fixed.

He turns to leave, and she says, "I'm not upset with you," before she can really help herself. It's not as if that's untrue, too.

"No," he says after a long moment, eyes glancing over her. "I guess not."

... ...

A hand closes around her throat, shoving her back against the wall, and she feels something cold being pressed against her side before she feels the electricity pulsing in her veins. A scream rips from her throat, and for one, agonizing moment, all she feels is white hot pain—

And then it's yanked away from her completely, leaving her disoriented as she gasps for breath. Her legs shake, giving out beneath her, and she lets herself fall to her knees as she dissolves into a fit of coughs. Her vision blurs in and out as her mind tries to focus, but the glare from his metal arm is distinctive, catching her eyes as he punches the Hydra agent right in the jaw, then takes his rifle and knocks him in the head. The guy falls to the ground, unmoving, and then a figure moves to kneel in front of her, his warmth touching her skin.

"You okay?" James asks. He hooks a finger under her chin, tilts her head so that their eyes meet. His expression is collected, but his eyes are wild.

"Yeah," she breathes. She just needs a moment, so she leans forward, presses her forehead to the shoulder of his metal arm as she tries to catch her breath, and it's automatic, the way his hand fits over the small of her back, pressing her closer.

... ...

Natasha stands behind her at the vanity, working Wanda's hair into an elegant braid atop her head. Espionage is something Wanda's never dealt with before, and she's nervous, even though she knows that her being sent on this mission means that they believe she's capable. Pietro is charming enough to get away with it. Wanda's not so sure if she is, too.

"He's not a bad man," Wanda finds herself saying. It's a little out of the blue, she knows, but Natasha will understand.

Natasha meets her eyes in the reflection. "I know," she says.

Wanda blinks. "You do?"

She gives Wanda a small smile, twisting her braid and pinning it into place. Natasha has always had a knack for making something elegant look effortless. "Steve believes in him," Natasha answers simple. "The same way he believed in you and Pietro, and I knew to trust you." She picks a sparkling clip from the vanity and slides it into place. Wanda just watches her in the reflection, catching the smirk on her lips. "It's not exactly a coincidence that he'll be in the ballroom with us tonight as your back-up. He's fairly good at watching over you."

Wanda blushes.

... ...

She lays on the grass after a jog outside, eyes closed, taking in the warmth of the sunlight, and she smiles when she hears his footsteps softly padding over to her. She doesn't have to look to know that it's him, and she rolls her head to the side, eyelids fluttering open as he lays beside her.

He turns his head to look at her, too, lips twitching into a bit of a smile. She reaches over, fingertips grazing over the apple of his cheek, and she feels her stomach flutter.

"You should probably get a haircut," she tells him. He laughs.


	32. Steve/Natasha - "It doesn't fit."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As much as I love riddling you out, Nat, you might just have to give me this one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** general  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **prompt:** "It doesn't fit."
> 
> Because these domestic dorks are everything.

"It doesn't fit."

She says this without preamble, after coming home from her dress fitting with the girls and changing into her pajama shorts and the white shirt she stained when they repainted the den. It's barely even 6:00, but she knows they won't be leaving the house for the rest of the day. The summer heat has made them particularly lazy about leaving the comfort of their back patio, and if this appointment wasn't scheduled the last time they were at the bridal boutique, she wouldn't have left the house at all today. She knows Steve hasn't. Sam came over – she saw all of the empty beer bottles lined up along the kitchen sink – but the guy has an assignment with Maria in Sydney, and he had already left before Natasha got home.

Steve pauses, glancing up from his charcoal sketch to meet her eyes. He's smiling, because he's always smiling, but she sees his slight confusion at her greeting.

"It doesn't fit?" he echoes. She nods, takes his glass off of the table and drapes herself against the lounge chair beside him. "Isn't that what the fitting is for? To make it fit?"

Her lips twitch as she takes a sip of his water. "I mean, it _won't_ fit, I guess."

He blinks. He knows she's trying to tell him something else right now, and she could very well just come out and say it. But this is much more fun. "Okay," he says slowly. "Is there anything we can do?"

"We could not put off this wedding any longer."

Now he looks particularly confused. It's adorable, really. "We had the date set months ago. I didn't think that putting it off had ever been an option." She shrugs a shoulder, taking another sip, and then he shakes his head a little. "As much as I love riddling you out, Nat, you might just have to give me this one. It's been kind of a long afternoon."

He sounds exasperated – not by her, but in general – and it makes her pause. "What happened?"

"Sam and Maria," he breathes, "are possibly having _problems_. Which you know means they're really _not_ , but I still had to try and piece things together with Sam."

Natasha grins, reaching over with her free hand and squeezing his. She'll have charcoal on herself now but she hardly minds. "They're so weird."

"The weirdest," he agrees. He lifts their joined hands and kisses the tops of her knuckles. "So, are you going to tell me what you were talking about before?"

She glances at their hands, wonders if he can tell that her heartbeat has picked up ever so slightly. (He probably can if that crinkle between his eyebrows is anything to go off of.) "I meant," she starts, looking back up to meet his gaze, "that by the time the wedding comes, I'll barely be able to fit the dress properly, and I definitely won't be able to if we were to wait any longer. I'll start showing by the second trimester"—his eyebrows raise at this, lips parting—"so you better not say anything at all about my weight during the honeymoon."

"Natasha," he says.

She shrugs a shoulder, but she knows how wide she must be smiling, especially as she watches Steve's expression brighten.

He leans over, places his free hand against her cheek as he kisses her slowly, softly, but with an intensity that her tingle all the way down her spine. He pulls away, presses another kiss to the corner of her mouth as she murmurs, "I was serious about that weight comment."

"I know," he replies, moving his hand down to flatten it against her stomach. Her heart skips. "Does that mean no bikinis on the beach?"

"You're such an _ass_ ," she breathes, and she knows he would've been laughing if he wasn't kissing her again.


	33. Steve/Natasha - can't keep my hands to myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a day in Paris to themselves. Not exactly a vacation, but a luxury all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** [geishaveji](http://paperdragonfly.co.vu/)   
> **prompt:** a [gif](http://45.media.tumblr.com/847adc67c3f0e8853e040d9b2b2518e8/tumblr_nztmnhyRpa1qc34ubo3_r2_250.gif) from her [geishaveji](http://paperdragonfly.co.vu/post/138050715386/happy-shipping-to-my-beloved-romanogersstevenat)
> 
> This could not have less to do with your edit, darling, but my mind goes to weird places. I blame hormones and Selena Gomez.

She wakes up with sunlight on her back and the smell of coffee floating into the room, and in the haze of shaking off sleep, she almost forgets that they're an ocean away from their master bedroom in New York. Steve has always woken up long before her, stirring her into semi-consciousness no matter how carefully he leaves their bed, and then murmuring an apology she never needs before kissing her forehead and padding out of the room. He almost always goes right into his morning run – and really, the only time he doesn't start his morning with a run is when he stays in bed with her, or when he wakes up a little later than usual, and he'll sit at the kitchen table and sketch until he feels up to starting breakfast.

Their business finished on schedule last night, but their flight home isn't until evening, which is by no means a slip in the arrangements by Nick.

("Just don't break any furniture this time," the man had said as he handed her the printouts of the reservation. "Our money is not to be given to hotels as compensation.")

Half a day in Paris to themselves. Not exactly a vacation, but a luxury all the same. Nick is getting soft.

She stretches out her entire body, lets out a yawn as she settles onto her stomach and runs her fingers over her braid. Her hair falls almost to the small of her back now, the longest it's been in _years_ (and though she likes the change, she could do without all the constant maintenance). She'd been halfway to sleep when she'd braided it, which probably made the tangles worse rather than prevented them, now that she thinks about it. Her mind always gets so scattered whenever Steve makes her bones turn to liquid the way he did last night.

The door opens and Steve walks in, boxers low on his hips as he shrugs out of his robe. He pauses as he meets her eyes, lips curving into a smile as he realizes she's awake.

"Hey," she greets.

"Hi," he says, settling one knee against the mattress as he leans down and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. She hums, licking her lips. "I ordered breakfast."

"I could tell," she replies. He kisses her shoulder again, scruff rubbing against her skin. "Too bad I'm not hungry for food right now."

He breathes out a laugh as he hears her meaning, and she moves to turn over, but he presses his hand against the space between her shoulders to keep her in place. She glances up at him, feeling something in her stomach stir at the sparkle in his eyes as he holds her gaze. He lifts the covers and pulls them back, sending goose bumps down her arms at the draft it brings, and then causing her to shiver ever so slightly at the warmth that crowds her space as he settles against her back, elbows braced against the mattress on either side of her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, voice low and warm against the back of her neck before placing a kiss there.

"Like a baby," she answers, eyelids fluttering closed. "Happens when almost every muscle in my being is exhausted."

"Almost?" he asks against her skin. He doesn't _sound_ teasing, but she knows he is.

"Don't go fishing for compliments," she tells him. She had tried to sound unamused, though the breathiness of her tone pretty much shoots that to hell.

"Hearing you fall apart over and over again last night is compliment enough," he tells her, and then dips his head, pressing a slow, wet kiss to the space halfway down her spine as the cold metal of his dog tags skim her flushed skin. Her breath hitches at this, warmth coiling in her stomach as she remembers how hard she'd tugged on the metal chain every time he tried pulling away from her (which was only because she'd attempted to claw him out of his formal military uniform in the middle of the service gala last night). One of his hands comes to rest on her side, calloused fingers sliding upward as his lips do. She lets out this little sound at his touch, tries to roll them over, but he keeps her in place. "You alright there, Nat?"

" _Jerk_ ," she breathes, nudging her elbow against his chest. He chuckles, presses another kiss to the back of her neck before slackening his hold on her, rolling with her as she maneuvers them around. She straddles his hips, running her hands down his front as she presses him down against the plush hotel pillows.

She can practically feel his heartbeat quicken under her palms as her fingers dip over the contours of his chest, nails scraping over so lightly over his skin.

"Still can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?" he asks, voice low, rough. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

She slides her fingers up, hooks it over the beaded chain of his dog tags and tugs him closer. "Why would I want to?" she asks, and she captures his top lip in a kiss, his breath warm against her face as he lets out a low groan.

He brings one of his hands up, cradles the back of her head as he kisses her a little harder, a little deeper, tongues pressing together. She can tell, though, that he's quickly growing frustrated with her braid, and her stomach rumbles with a low laugh as he exhales sharply and yanks out the elastic at the end of her braid. She smiles against his lips, earning a smile from him as he moves his lips more slowly against hers, almost as if following the gentle work of his fingers as he undoes her braid. She can feel her hair brushing the side of her ribs while he does this, making her quiver a little, and then a little more as her warmth coils tighter. He smirks and she kisses him almost rebelliously in response, causing him to chuckle.

Then he hooks an arm around her, causing her to let out a noise of surprise as he suddenly rolls them over, once again pinning her to the mattress beneath them.

"Steve—" she starts, but then his lips are on her neck, and she's tipping her head back, letting out a stuttered breath as her back arches ever so slightly. His calloused fingertips are over her skin again, palm flat over her side as it slides upward and presses over her racing heart.

"Guess I can't keep my hands to myself, either," he murmurs against her pulse, pressing a wet kiss there.

" _Good_ ," she breathes, and he laughs, sending vibrations over her skin.


	34. Steve/Natasha - jealous/overprotective Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not as if they owe anyone information on their personal lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** general  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** [thatmartinskishit](http://thatmartinskishit.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "jealous/overprotective Steve"

Neither of them says as much, but they don't need to, either. Steve is a fairly private person (or, as private as Captain America can actually be) and Natasha even more so than him, so when they get together, it happens so softly, tucked into the quiet of her apartment at Stark Towers—and it gives them the luxury of not having to say _anything_ right away. This – _them_ – can be just theirs for a little while, without the well-intentioned curiosity of their friends and the prying eyes of the public. It's rather exciting in its own way, all the sneaking around.

But a few weeks pass, and their friends find out their little secret, and it feels pretty great getting to share this with them, too.

Things are still kind of on the down-low in public, though, and this also isn't something one of them decides out loud. They just understand each other, like they always have and always will, and really, it's not as if they owe anyone information on their personal lives. They don't need to _announce_ it, and they're not ones for PDA, either.

(Well, to the actual public. Making their fellow Avengers – particularly Tony – as uncomfortable as possible with their affection has become something of a game as of late.)

Steve hasn't had a reason to be bothered by this.

Until tonight, at least.

There are a lot of perks about being good friends with Tony Stark and obligatory appearances at charity functions and grand showcases is not one of them. It feels like it should be, and Steve is all for supporting good causes. He just wishes they weren't always so _extravagant_.

Having to see his girlfriend get hit on by almost everyone in the ballroom isn't exactly helping anything, either.

He hates feeling jealous, but he can't exactly dismiss the uncomfortable curl in his stomach as he watches eyes follow Natasha around the room, deliberately staring at her body, as if showing any amount of skin – no matter how tastefully done – is an invitation to come onto her. He tries not to let it bother him, because it clearly doesn't bother Natasha, and it's one of those things that maybe never has, or just doesn't, anymore, since she's depended on her appearance for so long. There's nothing shameful about it, and she doesn't need him to give his blessing or anything, but he _is_ impressed by how skillfully she works her looks onto other people. It has always been one of her strongest weapons and he understands this.

He appreciates her skillset. _He does_.

But tonight is different. Neither of them are undercover, or geared up, and there isn't a mission happening. They're off-duty, and Natasha isn't trying to lure anybody into a trap. She's just trying to enjoy herself, enjoy the champagne and the pleasant conversation and a night off with her friends at a fancy party.

And despite her declining drink after drink, turning down guy after guy as politely as possible because they're important partners and investors for Stark Industries—

Despite her clear disinterest, they still try to chase her, to impose themselves on her, and he _hates_ it.

"Did anyone tell you how handsome you look in a uniform?"

Steve grins, glass of scotch pausing halfway to his lips as he turns his head, heart thumping in his chest at the sight of Natasha gliding up to him. Pepper sent over a champagne dress for Natasha to wear, that hugs her curves and falls from her waist in a pool of chiffon at her heels, and if Steve weren't being approached by this philanthropist and that politician every other minute, he wouldn't have taken his eyes off of her all night. She is as beautiful in an evening gown as she is in her sweatpants, but she makes this dress look particularly elegant.

He looks down at his formal military uniform and shrugs a shoulder. "This old thing? It's hardly something to get excited about."

She hums softly, eyeshadow shimmering under the crystal chandelier as she looks him up and down, lips quirking into a slight smirk. "Guess I'm just a sucker for vintage."

"Easy, now. I may be old but I still have feelings."

He says this lightly, echoing her playful tone, but the smile on her face fades ever so slightly as she hears the uneasiness to his voice. Because he can see about half a dozen guys in his peripherals staring at her, and it makes him tighten his hold on his glass and set his jaw.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

It eases him a little, knowing that she can read him so well – because it reminds him that they have something so incredibly intimate, something _theirs_ and theirs alone. Immediately he feels his jealousy dissolve a bit, and he feels _petty_. Just because they're together doesn't mean he has any right to feel protective over Natasha. She isn't anyone's to own.

"Nothing," he says with a shake of his head. She tilts her head a little. "It's nothing. Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

"About four or five times now," she replies easily, taking a step close, into his space. "You wouldn't be the first, either," she adds, tone _knowing_ – and he wants to laugh, because of course she knows, and she'll always know. "Does it bother you, all the staring?"

"Yes," he admits. They don't lie to each other – not anymore, about _anything_ – and he's not about to start over something so trivial. "But it shouldn't."

"It bothers me, though, so it should bother you, too." She takes another step closer, lifts a hand and places it against his cheek, smiling. "Help a girl out, would you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and maybe this is incredibly childish of him, but he can't help but glance over her shoulder for a fleeting second, watching the look of confusion cross her suitors' faces as he leans his head in and meets her lips. Murmurs erupts almost immediately, and someone whistles, and he tries to pull away to laugh, because he thought that Natasha had only meant to make it a quick display—but then her hand is on the back of his neck, keeping him in place, and she nudges his lips open with hers to deepen the kiss.

There are cheers, and more whistling, and Steve feels his blood thrumming when she finally parts their kiss, meeting his gaze.

"I think I like you getting jealous," she says, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. He breathes out a laugh and squeezes the hand he has over her hip.

"Never going to let this go, huh?"

" _Never_ ," she replies, and there's something possessive about the way she grips the collar of his jacket, but he doesn't mind it one bit.


	35. Steve/Natasha - cold temperatures force characters into close proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snowfall hadn't been much of a concern until about twenty minutes ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** general  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [romannoff](http://romannoff.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "cold temperatures force characters in close proximity"

Hydra has a thing with setting up in extreme terrains. It's something Steve noticed a while back, some odd number of Hydra base scouts ago, and it makes sense. Their operations are by no means _small_ , and putting themselves in unfavorable conditions away from prying eyes is one of the ways they'd slipped under the radar for so long.

 _They just had to pick Alaska_ , Steve thinks ruefully, tilting his head to try and get a better look out the window – which doesn't do much, considering the sheets of snow coming down.

It was supposed to be a simple sweep of the place, because it had already been looked through by the few agents that'd discovered the base two weeks before, and the place had seemed like it'd been empty for a while. They still wanted to do another search just in case, which has just become protocol by now. Something as routine as this isn't usually put in their hands, since The Avengers are usually needed for more dire situations, but the location and expanse of the place was enough for Nick to ask Steve to take a look for himself.

"You might want a backup or two," Nick had advised when he'd handed Steve the file.

It seemed unnecessary for three Avengers to go on a simple sweep, but Nick doesn't overthink things, and Steve takes trusts the guy's judgment, so he'd asked Wanda and Natasha to tag along.

The snowfall hadn't been much of a concern until about twenty minutes ago, when they were about to head home. Natasha had noticed a smaller building south of the base, further down the mountain, and Wanda landed them closer so Natasha could take a quick look. Steve couldn't tell you exactly why he felt compelled to come along, but before they'd barely made their way inside, the light snowfall had become a storm with barely any visibility and definitely no sensible way of getting back to the jet. At least communications stayed intact.

"Are you guys alright?" Wanda's voice comes in clear despite the static, which is a good sign, Steve thinks.

"We're fine," he replies, glancing around. The space in this building is almost nonexistent – nothing more than a wall of monitors, a desk, and a couch. "Just a little cramped."

"Can you get out?" she asks.

He walks over to the door, turns the knob and gives it a push. It takes a little force, but it budges. "Yeah," he answers. "But it probably wouldn't be a good idea to head back to the jet until the snow dies down. Are you going to be alright for now?"

This draws a bit of a laugh. "I'll be perfectly fine in here. I'm more worried about you two."

"We'll be alright." Natasha chimes in this time, plopping herself onto the couch, one leg crossed over the other. Despite the situation, Steve smiles. "Now we wait."

... ...

The insulation in this building, he quickly realizes, leaves much to be desired. Steve wonders how it could possibly get any colder, but no more than ten minutes later – he believes that's how long they've been in here, at least, since his suit doesn't exactly have a watch – he feels a shudder ripple through his body. He feels cold down to his _bones_ , despite the thermal layer under his suit, and beside him on the couch, Natasha clenches her fists even tighter. She has her knees draw to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, and Steve can't help but notice how impossibly _small_ she looks in this moment, curled into herself, nose and cheeks pink from the biting chill in the air. He hates seeing her so uncomfortable.

"You alright, Nat?" he asks. They're sitting close enough that his arm brushes against hers with any movement.

She glances at him, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Perfectly fine," she replies, and something tugs in his chest at the slight shake to her voice. She's _cold_. She's always been rather sensitive to the weather, despite downplaying it in the field like this, and if it's starting to get to him, he can only imagine how she must feel right now.

"Natasha," he says. He doesn't know how to help her. He turned the place over, and there was nothing to use as a blanket, no source of heat or way to start some kind of fire.

"It's alright." She closes her eyes, tilts her head back against the couch and blows out a breath. Trying to keep her composure, Steve realizes.

"Natasha," he says again, so she'll look at him, and she does. "Come here."

She hesitates. Not at the invitation, he notices, staring into her eyes – but at the urgency she must sense in his voice. But then he reaches for her, and it's automatic, the way she leans into the embrace, the way she slides herself into his lap and fits herself against his chest, head resting against his shoulder. Her hands are _freezing_ when they brush against the collar of his suit as she shifts to get comfortable and there's another tug to his chest as he casts a glance down at her. She was _this_ cold the whole time and didn't once say anything.

"Shit, Nat," he murmurs. She glances up at him from underneath her long eyelashes, breath brushing against his skin, and his heart thumps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Can't exactly do much about it," she reminds, tilting her head back down. She rests her forehead against his neck and he brings a hand up, brushing it gently over her hair, just because he has the urge to. She doesn't seem to mind, though.

"I know, but still." She shifts in his arms, presses her hand flat against his chest, just above his heart. "I worry about you."

"I know you do," she replies, and she doesn't seem upset about this, the way she'd been when Wanda had taken a bullet to her arm that'd been intended for Natasha a few weeks back. They've been a team for a while now, especially the two of them, but he knows Natasha is still a little uneasy at the idea of people worrying about her. "You don't need to."

"I'm still going to," he says. Not because he believe she needs him to worry, because he simply _can't_ help it. If something – _anything_ – were to happen to her, he…

He doesn't know how he'd handle it. It wouldn't be good, though.

He doesn't say any of this, but then her heart presses a little more against his chest, and somehow he knows she understands, anyway.

"How are _you_ holding up?" she asks after a moment, tilting her head back again to meet his gaze. He furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly. "I know how you are about the cold."

He exhales a breath, holds onto her a little tighter. The cold isn't as haunting to him as a nightmare, but it creeps onto him slowly, almost by surprise, until his chest feels too tight to even breathe – and she'd been there, on those few assignments that had brought the memories back with a force like a knock to his gut. He remembers the way she'd hold onto him then, the way her calloused fingertips still felt incredible soft as she ran them over his face, through his hair, voice gentle in his ear as she murmured words of comfort over and over.

Her hand slides up, touch cold against his neck, but not uncomfortable, either. She sets her hand there, running her thumb over the underside of his jaw, holding his gaze.

"I'm fine," he says, and she graces him with a smile – small but beautiful – because she can tell what he really means.

 _With you, I'll always be fine_.


	36. Steve/Natasha - Natasha borrowing Steve's clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he's surprised about her wearing his jacket, it doesn't show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "the other Avengers noticing Natasha has a habit of stealing Steve's shirts and sweaters, both before and after they get together"

It starts with a jacket.

Natasha has the thing loosely draped off of her shoulders when she shows up for Sunday brunch—which Sam gets invited to now, because apparently he's one of the team. He never actually gave Tony an answer when the guy had asked in his own vague sense of an invitation, but Tony never really pauses long enough for Sam to point that out, so he doubts that the guy would even take no for an answer at this point. Not that Sam would've actually backed out, because it's not such a bad gig, being part of a team again. He definitely missed it.

They show up separately, but Sam is observant and always has been, and he recognizes the blue hoodie Natasha has on when she enters the restaurant.

Steve smiles at her like he always does, and there's nothing incredibly out of the ordinary about it. If he's surprised about her wearing his jacket, it doesn't show.

"That's a good color on you, Nat," Sam tells her.

No one else catches it but her, and she just grins a little, taking the menu Steve hands her. "Thanks," she replies, a touch of amusement in her a tone, but then again, that's just her tone, isn't it?

... ...

His first winter since moving to New York hits him in full force, with eight inches of snow and a biting chill in the air.

It's nothing he hadn't seen while living in Washington D.C. the last few years, but there's something different about it here, lounging on the chaise sectional in the apartment Natasha shares with Pietro and Wanda. Sam sips on his mug of hot cider and listens to Laura and Clint bicker about the guy's latest home improvement project, the smell of fresh gingerbread drifting in from the kitchen. Wanda has gone through every holiday recipe the internet could find, and tonight she got Lyla and Cooper involved in frosting two dozen eggnog cookies.

Natasha is tucked under two blankets and sitting right by the fireplace, but apparently she's still cold, because she gets up to put on another layer—and Sam feels his eyebrows lift when she comes back, tugging at the hem of a Captain America sweater.

The same one Clint gifted to Steve as a joke for his birthday.

"You look cute, Natasha," Pietro comments, smirking at Natasha as she sinks back into her nest of blankets beside him. Natasha slugs his arm and he laughs.

"Huh."

Sam glances at Clint, watching as the guy squints at Natasha for a moment, then shifts his gaze to where Steve is assembling gingerbread houses with Wanda, Lyla, and Cooper in the kitchen. The guy seems too preoccupied to notice Clint's staring, or Natasha's wardrobe change, for that matter, but that doesn't mean much.

Steve is a lot better at keeping up appearances than you'd think.

... ...

He and Steve know they're in the apartment when they get back from their morning run, but it's not much of a surprise at this point. Steve gave Natasha a spare key when they first moved in, even though she doesn't really need one, but whatever. It seemed neater than having her break into their apartment every time she felt like coming over, and Sam didn't mind. It's kind of great, actually, coming home to find Wanda already finishing up with breakfast as Pietro and Natasha are sitting at the kitchen table, Pietro laughing over his coffee.

"Welcome home," Wanda greets, setting a platter of blueberry pancakes in the middle of the table. "Breakfast is ready."

"Took you two long enough," Pietro says. "I've been _starving_."

"Good, then you can get served last," Natasha replies, earning a huff from him. She grins, but then absently rolls her shoulder and makes a bit of a face behind the rim of her coffee mug. She fell pretty hard on her right shoulder on her mission two days ago and it must still be bothering her.

Steve touches her left shoulder gently, eyebrows furrowed. "You sure you don't want Helen to give that a quick look?"

Natasha tries to look exasperated, but her grin gives her away. "I'm fine. Just eat your pancakes, Rogers."

"Kind of demanding for someone eating our food in our kitchen, wearing a shirt that isn't hers," Sam teases, earning a smirk from Natasha.

Because yes, Sam recognized Steve's plaid button-down on her, and even if it isn't all that unusual to see anymore, he still points it out every now and then. It's something that he, Clint, and Tony like to muse about when the three of them are together, though it's more of an excuse for Tony to insinuate as often and as graphically as possible that she and Steve are sleeping together behind everyone's backs. It's a theory Sam hasn't entirely passed up himself, since it hasn't left his attention that Steve doesn't always spend the night in their apartment, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Steve and Natasha have always been close—certainly (strangely) close enough that borrowing clothes isn't much of a red flag.

Steve settles into the seat beside Natasha, resting his elbow on the back of her chair, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

"You smell like sweat," she complains, making a show of leaning away, but Steve just laughs, slides his hand down from her shoulder to the small of her back, letting it rest there. Natasha doesn't even blink at the contact.

Sam raises his eyebrows. _Interesting_ , he thinks, but then Pietro tries to grab the plate of bacon before Sam, and the thought is gone as he smacks the guy's hand away.

... ...

The whole thing feels rather anticlimactic when it comes to light, but it also _doesn't_ , because he's known – they've _all_ known – where Steve and Natasha were headed. He just wasn't expecting the two of them to get there before the rest of them could catch on.

He's meeting Maria for breakfast in fifteen, but she asks him if he can pick up the files she'd left for Natasha on his way to the café, and he doesn't mind. It's hardly as if Natasha lives out of his way, and he's always had a particularly hard time denying Maria anything, though that may also be for lack of trying. But he's not sure if anyone will answer the door. Wanda likes to take a morning walk through the city on her days off if she can help it, and Pietro is supposed to be in Tokyo until later tonight. Natasha isn't exactly a morning person, either.

He tries, anyway, and stands outside the door for almost two-and-a-half minutes, about to turn and leave when he hears the door unlock.

Natasha is the one to answer, and Sam finds his eyes drawn to the large, white shirt she has on – the way it practically falls off of her shoulders, that's how wide it is on her, and to the fading military logo stamped onto the material.

"Maria told me you were dropping by," Natasha says as greeting, already stepping back into her apartment.

She reaches for the stack of folders on the breakfast bar, sitting next to a chair that has Steve's jacket draped over the back, and Sam finds himself grinning.

"Do I want to know how _that_ got there?" he asks. She glances down to the bruise coloring the inside of her thigh, and then looks back up, lips twitching in a smirk. "Never mind," he murmurs with a shake of his head, holding his hand out for the files. "That's a good look on you, by the way," he adds.

Steve would probably be halfway to mortified hearing that kind of a compliment, but Natasha just laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement.

 _And happiness_ , he notes, taking in the slight flush of her cheeks, the brightness to her expression. She's definitely happy, and _that_ may be her best look of all.


	37. Steve/Natasha - “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't a miracle that kept Natasha alive. It was an act of desperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,500  
>  **for:** [sunnie91](http://sunnie91.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you."

A fall like that, off a vehicle going at that kind of speed, shrapnel in her arm, shards of glass in her side – that's not something that people can just walk away from, and, with a shaky breath, tears rolling down her cheeks and voice tight, trying to hold onto any semblance of composure, Helen tells him that it's a _miracle_ Natasha even survived.

 _No_ , Steve thinks, remembering the way Wanda was bent over Natasha's body on that empty road, shoulders tense, hands covered in blood, eyes wet with tears and glowing red.

It wasn't a miracle that kept Natasha alive. It was an act of _desperation_.

"You _stay with me_ , Natasha," Wanda had ordered, echoing the words Steve would have been screaming, if he had been able to find his voice. Pietro had gotten down on one knee beside his sister, hand hovering over her shoulder as he watched with wild eyes and parted lips, glancing from Wanda to Natasha, perhaps the only time in his life that he had gone perfectly still. Sam had punched the metal debris of the armored truck, hard, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, over and over again in a silent sort of rage that Steve hadn't even known the guy was capable of. All Steve could do was stand there and _watch_ , mind numb – every part of him unfeeling, unable to do _anything_ – as sirens blared in the distance.

Three days. This had happened three days ago, and Natasha still didn't show any signs of waking up.

Steve thinks he hasn't spent more than four hours outside of this hospital since Natasha had been wheeled in, leaving chaos in her wake – and even then, this was only because Sam or Tony had physically pulled him out, drove him home and waited for him to shower and change before they would bring him back.

On the second night, Pepper had showed up with a sketchbook and case of pencils, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He had tried to thank her, but she walked away before he could.

The only other person who had been just as insistent about not leaving was Wanda. Steve thought that Pietro would stay because of her, and he did, in the sense that he was the only other face besides Helen that seemed to frequent the hospital room. But Pietro itched at every chance to leave, fetching them food or blankets or the nurse for any kind of update on Natasha's condition. When he stayed it, it was never for very long, and he would spend the whole time sitting in the corner, flipping too quickly through the channels, the TV on mute.

"Waiting makes him skittish," Wanda had explained that first night, rubbing at the dried blood on her hands with a hospital wipe. "But he can't leave, either."

Steve can relate.

... ...

Sam drops off a new stack of books every day for Wanda to pour herself into as she sits beside Steve in the hard, plastic hospital chairs, and on the morning of the fourth day, Tony finally talks Pietro into leaving the hospital to run a few errands with Pepper. It's a strange turn, since Wanda and Pietro's wariness of Tony has ebbed but not necessarily disappeared. Maybe this is what they needed to go through to warm up to each other, Steve thinks, flipping to a fresh page in the sketchbook. He's drawn a bit of everything, but mostly Natasha.

He glances at Wanda, legs stretched out onto a second chair, one hand over her stomach, the other holding her paperback open, eyes lazily sliding over the pages.

He draws her like this, hair curling as it spills over her shoulders, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, lips parted – and after a few long moments, her eyes drift from her book and onto his artwork, lips tugging into a bit of a smile.

"You're really good," she tells him. It isn't the first time and it won't be the last, he knows. She's particularly enthusiastic about his talent.

( _Another thing she got from Natasha_ , he thinks, chest tightening.)

"Thanks," he says.

On the page opposite of hers is a drawing of Natasha, her legs crossed, hair in a messy bun and a kitten sitting atop her knee, paw reaching for her heart. He watches Wanda take in the drawing, watches the emotion flicker in her eyes, tears starting to collect in the corners, and he offers her one of the handkerchiefs Tony had left from the morning.

Wanda glances over at Natasha, wiping at the corners of her eyes. Steve swallows, hard.

"Do you love her?" she asks, eyes still on Natasha, voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, Steve thinks he imagined the words.

"Yes," he replies. At this, Wanda turns to look at him again, meeting his gaze. He can see the question in her eyes, but also the belief on her face. She believes him.

Still, she asks the question ("How do you know?") and he can't help but let out a breath. He might've even laughed if he felt he was capable of it.

How does he know? How can he _not?_

He remembers waking up, remembers running out onto that busy New York street in a panic, and he didn't stop running until he ended up on that helicarrier, watching this woman walking towards him. Even back then, before he could begin to understand what kind of person Natasha was, and how much he'd come to want her in his life, he felt _drawn_ to her. He _felt_ something for the first time in years, for the first time coming off the ice, so much so that even after the battle was over, and after the war was won, he couldn't resist following.

"Because nothing makes sense without her," he says, the words coming out simply, easily, like something his heart had decided a long time ago.

... ...

On the sixth night, minutes before midnight, he sets his sketchbooks aside, rubs a hand over his tired eyes and wonders how many hours of sleep he might get this time. His shoulders ache, muscles protesting against the thought of another night in the plastic hospital chairs. He feels like _hell_.

Beside him, Wanda stirs in her sleep, looking impossibly _young_ like this, curled up with her hands tucked under her head, expression soft, maybe even peaceful.

Steve shifts his chair closer to Natasha's bedside, reaching out and gently curves his fingers over hers, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles.

He blinks, and, for the first time in six days, he feels his eyes wet with tears.

"You need to wake up, Nat," he murmurs. He hardly recognizes his own voice, throat tight from the terror he's been pushing aside.

He needs her to wake up. He needs to see her bright eyes, sparkling in amusement, lips curling into a smile as she teases him about this and that, and he'll close his eyes, letting her gentle tone soothe the rest of the world away. He needs to feel her fingers brush through his hair, grazing over his cheekbone, pressing flat against his chest, just above his heart, this look of awe gracing her expression as she feels how quickly his heart is beating underneath her palm – feels how quickly _she_ makes his heart beat. He needs to see her smile against the morning sunlight, hair fanned out underneath her, splayed across the pillow, a coy smile tugging at her lips as she crowds herself into his space, snatching his breath in a kiss—

He squeezes his fingers over hers, chest tightening. "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you."

 _I can't live without you_.

A quiet follows his words, the same eerie lull of steady beeps from the monitors and a gentle hum from the equipment that he's fallen into a restless sleep to for the last five nights. He brings his free hand up, presses his fingers over his eyes and tries to recollect his composure.

"Steve."

Her voice is so gentle, so calm, that he almost doesn't catch it. It's so familiar to him that he almost doesn't realize that he hasn't heard it in so long.

" _Steve_ ," she echoes, and he pulls his hand from his, eyes flying open to find Natasha blinking back at him. She looks completely, utterly _exhausted_. She looks like it's a great effort in itself to even keep her eyelids open.

She looks like the most beautiful thing he has _ever_ seen.

"Natasha," he breathes. His voice cracks on her name but neither of them acknowledges this. He squeezes their joined hands, shifts himself closer, breath hitching, heart thrumming in his chest. Relief ripples over him in waves, sliding down his spine as a shaky laugh escapes his lips. He _can't breathe_ , and it's the most exhilarating feeling in the world. "I thought—"

"That you could get rid of me that easily?" Her lips twitch into a smile, small but bright. Small but _breathtaking_. "As if, Rogers. You need me too much."

His eyes slide closed, thumb running over her knuckles. "I really do," he tells her, swallowing, hard, when he feels her fingers grip his gently in response. "I need you."

" _Good_ ," she breathes out on a laugh, and it's his favorite sound in the world.


	38. Steve/Natasha - lazy Sunday mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it were up to her, they just wouldn't leave the apartment at all today. Or the bed, for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** [sunnie91](http://sunnie91.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Romanogers + Lazy sundays"

Natasha hates being woken up, for any reason, but she can feel the press of his lips along the column of her neck, his low hums vibrating against her skin, and she doesn't really have any complaints about how it feels.

Her lips tug into a smile as he kisses the underside of her jaw. "Hi," she says.

His hand skims along the tops of her thighs, dipping under the hem of her slip and pressing flat against her stomach. "Hi," he murmurs back.

The curtains are drawn, she can tell, because she can feel the warmth of the sun splayed across her back as he slants his lips across hers, kissing her deep and slow. His hand moves over her side, squeezing ever so slightly, and she flinches as his fingers brush over her ticklish spot. He does that on purpose all the time and she stopped pretending to be pissed at him over it a while ago. Not only could he see right through the act every time, but then his hands are all over her, making her moan out his name under his touch and then she can't even remember what had pissed her off to begin with. Tony likes to say that Natasha is the manipulative one, and she can be. But Steve hardly ever plays fair and she kind of loves it.

He slides his lips down, trailing wet kisses along her collarbone, and she arches her back ever so slightly off the bed. _Fuck_. She's always loved how that felt.

If it were up to her, they just wouldn't leave the apartment at all today. Or the bed, for that matter. She can't remember the last time they had a Sunday all to themselves.

She pushes her fingers through his hair, massaging over scalp as he dips his head lower. She hums softly. "So, what's on today's agenda, Cap?"

She feels him smile against her skin at the name and places a long, wet kiss to the dip between her breasts. She lets out a throaty breath. " _You_ ," he says, and she can't help but exhale a laugh, even as he smooths his thumb over the font of her panties, the way he always does right before he plans on taking them off. Like he's asking for permission first.

"I'm being serious," she says.

"So am I." He skims his lips back up and slants them over hers, and the kiss is languid, almost tentative, like he hasn't kissed her hundreds of times already. "Today is all ours."

"No it's not." This time he's the one to laugh, breath tickling her face. She's smiling way too widely, but whatever. "Really?"

He nods, hooking his thumb under her waistband of her panties, and the warmth low in her stomach coils a little tighter. She takes his face in her hands, pulling him down for another slow, lazy kiss. That's kind of her favorite kind, honestly. Their lives are usually rushed touches and desperate desires, a blur of pleasure between the pages of a chaotic schedule.

That's all exciting in its own way, of course. But she doesn't want that to be the _only_ way.

She likes when they get to take their time, savor every second of it. She likes when she can be completely wrapped up in it, in _him_ , and just not care about the rest of the world for a few hours. She knows Steve likes it like that, too. He knows all the little things to work her up, all the right ways to touch her, to kiss her, riling her up in seconds because they never have enough time. So whenever they have the luxury of taking it slow, he teases her almost relentlessly, dragging out every moan and whimper from her until she can barely breathe.

She _loves_ it.

He presses his thumb over the front of her panties, working in gentle strokes that match the press of his tongue against hers, and she feels her heartbeats stutter, the lace dampening more and more under his touch.

"Steve," she breathes, hips shifting up, but he flattens his other hand over her stomach to keep her in place. She moans softly.

He kisses her a little harder, a little deeper, and then pulls back, peering down at her through heavy lids. That look alone could be enough to make her beg.

"Easy," he tells her. She gnaws at her lower lip, muffling another moan, but then he brings his other hand up, swiping his thumb until she parts them, unable to hold back his name that comes out in a heavy breath as he presses a little harder. It's already too much but not enough, and she almost shivers in anticipation. He's going to have her in _pieces_ at this rate.

He skims his lips over her satin slip, pushing the hem up over her stomach to kiss her right hipbone, then her left, and then pressing his thumb a little more, just over her bundle of nerves, before pulling his hand away completely. She moans out his name.

" _Beautiful_ ," he says against her skin, tugging her panties slowly down her legs. He kisses the inside of her thigh, letting his lips linger. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

(She was wondering the same thing.)

Then he has his mouth on her, fingers still hooked under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down slowly as he licks a stripe up her folds, and she tips her head back and lets out a breathy sound.

He takes his time working her up, pressing in just the right way until her entire body is shaking and she's gripping the sheet so hard she thinks she'll tear it, and then he finally sucks over her clit and her bones turn to liquid as his name falls from her lips in a sharp cry. He groans softly, like he needs a moment to collect himself, which is a little ridiculous, honestly.

He lifts his head, glancing up at her, and _fuck_. She really, really shouldn't find his smile adorable when he's between her legs like that, lips wet with her.

"You okay?" he asks. She can't really find her voice at the moment, so she reaches for him, smoothing her thumb over the stubble along his jaw. He squeezes the hand on her knee ever so slightly, smiling a little wider. "Good," he says. "Because this morning is going to be all about _you_."

She breathes out a laugh, tipping her head back as she closes her eyes.

 _Thank_ _god_ for Sunday mornings.


	39. Steve/Natasha - man and baby in bed (photo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, if anyone can be trusted alone with a kid, it'd be Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [romanovajames](http://romanovajames.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** [this photo](http://41.media.tumblr.com/341a02095709421f2a47c6c7158bb775/tumblr_ntvaocAOCL1shcqiqo1_500.jpg)

She and Steve are a great team. She trusts him with her life and always has, and he feels the same way. She doesn't need to hear it to know it, but he tells her all the time how much he appreciates her and how much better he is because of her, like it just doesn't feel right to him if he doesn't say the words at least once a day, and she kind of loves it. He just pulls her into his arms sometimes, hugs her close and kisses her hair whenever he has the urge to, or grabs her hand and starts playing with the ring on it because he knows it drives her crazy in the best way. She calls him a sap every time because of it, and he'll get this stupidly bright smile on his face because that's her way of saying she loves him and he knows it.

She says the actual words, too, of course. She wasted so much time by _not_ telling him, and he deserves to hear it in return just as often.

She loves him, and there's no one in the world she trusts more than him. You'd think that would be more than enough of a reason for her to not worry at all about leaving him and their one-year-old alone for the weekend, but she did, anyway.

Steve wasn't offended by it or anything, though. He knows it had less to do with her actually trusting him and more to do with the fact that it was her first full weekend away from her baby. She's missed being in the field, of course. She's always been good at it, and at first, she'd itched to get right back out there as soon as she could.

But honestly? She kind of loved staying home with James that first year. She was still involved in operations with Maria, because she didn't want to just stop working altogether, but she'd still been able to give James the attention he needed this way and she hardly minded the adjustment. The fact that she'd been able to conceive him in the first place was as amazing as it was alarming after the procedures her body had been subjected to in the Red Room, and she spent half of her pregnancy imagining the worst in the back of her head.

James had been born perfect and healthy – _thank god_ – and, so far, they haven't been given any reason to worry.

She's still going to, though.

She's a _mother_.

"Never thought I'd see the day when _you_ were the skittish one."

"Shut up," she replies, not even looking up from her phone. Tony just laughs. He was the one to pick her up from the airport, which hadn't been arranged because she had gone home on an earlier flight, but he still showed up at Arrivals when she landed and it didn't really surprise her. Tony likes to monitor their flights in and out for this very reason.

She's texting Maria about the mission since she's going straight home and won't be sending in her debrief until later. She hasn't text Steve since she told him she was flying back.

Even though she's really, really wanted to. Steve had given her the space once he started taking assignments again, though, and he deserves the same.

"You know, if anyone can be trusted alone with a kid, it'd be Steve," Tony tells her.

"I know," she says. She's never had any doubts about Steve being a good dad. If anything, she had been more worried about her screwing up in the beginning, and she still worries about that now sometimes, but not as much. She can't afford to think that way as a parent – and she learned this from Steve, of course.

("You're his mother, Natasha. You're always going to be what's best for him," he'd told her. He always knows exactly what she needs to hear and she kind of loves it.)

"So what's with the twitchiness?"

She blows out a breath, feeling her lips tug into a smile as she shrugs a shoulder. "I just miss them, is all," she admits, and Tony just gets this little grin on his face as he nods.

The rest of the car ride is a comfortable kind of quiet, and when he pulls up to their house, he offers to take her bag in for her, but she says it's fine. He gives her a two-fingered salute when she thanks him for the ride, reminds her about brunch with at their place on Tuesday and then waits for her to grab her bag from the trunk before driving off.

It's still fairly early, but Steve is usually up before _dawn_ , so she half-expected him to already be awake. She's not all that surprised to find he isn't, though.

For someone so little, James is a handful. She can only imagine what it'll be like as he grows up.

She walks up the stairs and the nursery is open when she passes by but James isn't in the crib. He's starting to grow out of it, but he still gets a little fussy in the middle of the night sometimes, and as soon as they go in there to calm him, he just refuses to be put down unless they take him into their room instead. She's a little worried about him not being able to sleep through the night on his own when he's older if they keep letting him get away with it, but right now he's still a baby and she thinks that it's totally fine that they coddle him a bit.

She leaves her bag in the hallway to remember to go through it later, and when she walks into their room, she smiles almost instantly.

Steve has James in the bed with him, of course, and they're both sleeping on their stomachs with their arms sort of tucked under their faces and, _fuck_. That's kind of too adorable. It's also a little hilarious, because James looks even smaller next to Steve like this, especially in their massive bed.

She knows she probably shouldn't wake them, but she hasn't seen her boys in two days and coming home to _this_ didn't help, either. It's ridiculous how much she's missed them.

Steve is also already starting to stir, so she feels a little less bad about walking over to the bed and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. He just doesn't sleep with a shirt on during the summer because he gets hot so easily and she's got no complains whatsoever.

He groans softly, stirs a little bit more, and then blinks his eyes open. She kisses his shoulder again and he turns his head to look at her, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Hey," he greets, voice still thick with sleep.

"Hi," she says.

He rolls onto his side to face her, careful not to jostle James that much, and reaches for her hand, thumb smoothing over the ring. She smiles. "We missed you."

"Me too," she replies. He smiles a little wider, pulls her hand towards him and brushes a kiss to her knuckles.

"James is going to be so excited to see you," he tells her, and her heart sort of flutters at this. She can't wait for him to awake. It's kind of taking every ounce of self-control to not pick him up right now. "Come lay down with us," he says. She slept through her flight, so she really doesn't need any more sleep, and she should probably get breakfast started.

But right now all she wants is to be with her boys, so she shrugs out of her jacket, slips off her shoes and lays gently down on her side so that James is between them.

She presses a soft kiss to James's little fist right next to her and Steve slides his hand over her hip, squeezing lightly. "Welcome home," he says, and she closes her eyes as she smiles.

She was waiting to hear those words.


	40. Steve/Natasha - "We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tony has a vacation home next to the beach, somewhere quiet and low-key.They can handle things here without us for a few days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [marvelousdorito](http://marvelousdorito.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet. Baby we're the new romantics; the best people in life are free."

A _vacation_.

She doesn't know who put something like that in Steve's head, but it was probably Tony. That sounds like a solution the guy would come up with.

She very nearly laughed at Steve when he first made the suggestion during dinner, after already dragging her out of the apartment rather than ordering in like he always does when they've just gotten home from assignments and didn't have time to cook anything. That had been enough for her to know that he was up to something. Things have definitely been crazier than usual with the New Avengers operations expanding more and more every day and that's supposed to be a good thing. They all know this. It doesn't change the fact that this kind of growth only makes things a hell of a lot harder when you're the ones running things and they're all starting to feel it. That doesn't mean they should just cop out, though.

"Not a cop out," he'd said. "Just a _break_. We both need it, Natasha."

And yeah, maybe they did. She thinks that they're maybe the only ones that haven't gotten something even close to a vacation, or at least a weekend away, because they kind of head The Avengers and don't really have time for breaks.

Three weeks later and Steve hasn't brought it up since, so she figures that he's let the idea slide. Of course he hasn't, though.

He catches her in her office after they've come back from separate missions and they're both still suited, and when he hands her a folder, she thinks it has something to do with a new target to catch or an extraterrestrial sighting that needs to be investigated. She doesn't expect to see printouts of two tickets for a flight to California for tomorrow.

"Tony has a vacation home next to the beach, somewhere quiet and low-key," he tells her, lips tugging into a smile. "They can handle things here without us for a few days."

"Steve," she says.

He slides his hand over her hips, draws her close and kisses the corner of her mouth. "Come on, Nat," he murmurs against her skin, and that's all it really takes for her to cave. Not that she was all that opposed to the idea in the first place, but still.

She gets packed that same night, even though their flight tomorrow isn't until the evening and she would've had time, but whatever. She tries on a bathing suit she'd bought when she'd gone shopping with Wanda a few months ago, and then Steve gets this sparkle in his eyes, lips tugging into that slight smirk of his that's always, _always_ driven her crazy. Then he's pressing her back against the bed, kissing her skin as he takes the thing off of her with his teeth, and it's a good thing that they packed early because they stay up pretty late.

Their flight gets them into California the next evening, and they find this little Italian place on the way that has brick ovens and makes some of the best pizzas she's ever had. The owner calls them a beautiful couple and offers them wine on the house, and she lets Steve hold her hand over the center console of their rental car for the rest of the drive.

They wake up a little late in the morning the next day, which she doesn't hate, _at all_ , and then Steve drapes an arm over her, kissing her slowly, lazily.

"I love it here," he says, thumb smoothing over the waistband of her pajama shorts.

She laughs. "It hasn't even been a day yet."

"Yeah, but waking up to you, with nowhere else to be…" He trails off, humming in content as he hugs her a little closer. "Definitely something I could get used to."

"We could still have this at home, too, you know," she points out, lips tugging into a grin. "If you would just ditch the morning runs and quit leaving me in bed all by myself."

His breath is warm against her face as he laughs. "Well, when you put it like that, I kind of feel bad."

He's teasing, she knows, but she still rolls them over, straddles his hips and presses herself close. "Want to make it up to me?" she asks, and his chest rumbles against hers in a deep chuckle as his hands come up to her sides, squeezing ever so lightly.

By the time they make it out of bed, it's already noon and she isn't hungry yet, but she will be soon, she can tell. They walk a few blocks down to the grocery store that they'd passed by last night, and he pushes the cart and lets her pick out way too many snacks considering they aren't even going to be here for a week, but whatever. The grocery store also has a soft serve machine, so she pays for a cone just because she feels like it and isn't all that concerned with eating ice-cream before eating actual food. Steve just laughs and shakes his head at her, but he carries all of the grocery bags, too, so she holds the cone up to his lips every so often as they walk back so he can have some. (See? She can share if she wants.)

She offers to make lunch when they get back, and Steve drops a kiss to her cheek and says he wants to go for a run since he didn't in the morning, which is fine with her.

She finds a radio station to listen to while she's in the kitchen, and she doesn't know what it is, but she's kind of in a ridiculously good mood. She can't remember the last time she's ever felt this relaxed, if ever.

She loves Steve even more for this, if possible.

She hears him come back from his run about a half hour later, when she's just about finished with lunch and has already started on an apple pie, because she was craving something sweet and it's his favorite. The kitchen smells like apples and cinnamon and a little bit of ocean water from the beach just outside, and there's a song playing with a catchy tune that she's definitely heard before, so she hums along for a bit and doesn't really pay attention to anything, and when she spins on her heels, she finds Steve leaning against the doorway.

"Don't stop on my account," he says, grinning, and she blushes a little and tries to glare, but he just laughs it off. "No, seriously. It's cute."

"Shut up," she huffs.

He walks over to her, wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses her hair. "I thought you didn't dance."

She gives him a look. "We've danced together before," she reminds.

"Yeah, but not like that." He dips his head, presses a kiss to the curve of her neck before nuzzling his face against her skin. She feels herself smile, leaning back against him a little more. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this before," he admits. He sounds a little amused by this, but mostly amazed. "I've never seen you so relaxed."

She lifts her hand, pushes it gently through his hair. "No one's ever given me the chance to be, until now." He smiles against her neck. "This is all because of you."

"Does this mean you'll dance with me?"

She tips her head back as she laughs. "Is that what you really want?" He hums in reply, lifts his head from her shoulder as she turns herself in his arms, taking his hands in hers and squeezing a little. "May I have this dance?" she asks, and the smile he gives her in response is one of her favorites yet.


	41. Steve/Natasha - learning of Peggy's death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy dies on a Sunday, and Nick is the one to deliver the news in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **for:** [romanovajames](http://romanovajames.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Steve and Natasha as an established couple when they learn of Peggy's death", inspired by the glimpse of the [church scene](https://49.media.tumblr.com/1b0cf3f0312ea46f545e94469a0fd511/tumblr_o5a18wnzsZ1qczvwwo4_500.gif) from the new trailer.

Peggy dies on a Sunday, and Nick is the one to deliver the news in person.

Steve sort of stares at Nick for a moment once the words are out, then just presses his lips together and runs a hand down his face, shaking his head ever so slightly, and she knows that this means a lot more than you'd think. Nick knows, too, because it's sort of just quiet for a long moment and neither of them really moves, until Steve meets her eyes and she sees this sort of helplessness in them that squeezes over her chest. She walks over to him, presses a kiss to his cheek and gently pushes on his shoulder until he sits on the couch.

"Thank you for coming here to tell us," she tells Nick. She knows that's what Steve would say if he could.

Nick nods, and another beat of silence passes. She knows Nick is probably a little more affected by this than he's letting himself be.

He hands them a paper with the viewing and funeral information printed, and then in Sharon's perfect script, there's a note asking if Steve could be a pallbearer. It's something the girl should probably be asking in person, and would, but they all know how close Sharon was to her Aunt Peggy were. The girl is probably too devastated to talk to anyone right now.

After a moment, Nick moves as if to head for the front door again but then hesitates, glancing at Steve. He looks up to meet Nick's eyes. "We'll all be at the funeral, Steve."

 _We're all going to be there for you_.

"Thank you." His voice is barely above a whisper and it sort of breaks her heart.

"I'm sorry," Nick says, his own voice growing a little soft, too. Steve nods a little, glancing down at the floor, and Nick meets Natasha's eyes. _You take care of him_.

She nods once – _I know_ – and the man takes that as his cue to leave. Natasha thinks about walking him to the door, but she can feel Steve quivering ever so slightly underneath her hand where it's still placed on his shoulder, and she knows she couldn't bring herself to leave his side in this moment even if she wanted to.

Once Nick is gone, Natasha glances down at Steve and doesn't really know what to say. She can't see his eyes right now but maybe that's a good thing, because as soon as he looks into hers, he'll see just how lost she is on how to comfort him. She's terrible at this kind of stuff, and she thinks that it probably makes her the shittiest girlfriend in the world that she doesn't even know what to say right now, especially when Steve always knows the _perfect_ things to say. He's so good at cheering her up even when she doesn't know she needs it.

She can't even do the same for him.

"Steve," she says softly, bringing her other hand to run through his hair. He lets out this breath at her touch, wraps his arms around her hips to pull her close and presses his face into her stomach, and she feels her chest tighten a little more. He's not crying, but she knows he could at any moment. She _hates_ seeing him like this.

She pushes her fingers through his hair, gently massaging over his scalp the way she knows he loves, that drives him crazy, because she really doesn't know what else to do.

Slowly, though, she feels him ease into her, pulling her closer so that she's standing between his legs, bodies pressed together. She can feel his eyes wet through the material of her shirt and she smooths her hand over the back of his neck, strokes her thumb over her skin. He swallows hard.

She's not entirely sure if it's even appropriate for something like this, but she has this urge to, so she sort of loosens his hold on her hips just enough for her to kneel down and then barely catches the confusion in his eyes before she's tipping her head up and pressing their lips together. He lets out his breath, tongue passing over the seam of her lips as his hand tucks into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he kisses her back. It's desperate, and he's shaking, but he's holding onto her so tightly that she thinks that his heart would break even more if she tried to let go. So she presses herself closer, grips his shirt between her fingers as his tongue presses against hers, his tears wetting her cheeks. She doesn't mind.

After a long moment, he pulls away, breathing hard, and presses his face into the curve of her neck, kissing the skin there. "Natasha," he murmurs.

"Let's go to bed," she tells him, and he nods, letting her pull him to his feet and holding onto her hand a little too tightly as she leads him for their bedroom.

It's quiet as they wash up and change, when usually Steve will tell her about his day, or ask about hers, or they're continuing a conversation from earlier in the day. She wonders if she should try to talk this time, about anything to take his mind off of it, but then he catches her gaze in the bathroom mirror as she's wiping her makeup off and gives her this little smile, and she thinks that trying to carry on as usual isn't what will make him feel better. He's heartbroken, she knows, and it's okay for them to acknowledge it. It's okay for him to be upset.

He holds the covers up for her to crawl underneath them as he does every night, then wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. Usually they sleep with his chest pressed against her back, but he keeps his hand over her hip when she moves to turn over, and she slides her hand over his chest, pressing it flat against his heart as she kisses his lips.

"Thank you," he says softly, holding her gaze.

"For what?" she asks.

He gets the ghosts of a grin on his lips, and her heart flutters in her chest because she's kind of stupidly happy to see it. "You always know what to do," he says.

He's still emotional and really thinking straight, probably, because she thinks she did a terrible job at comforting him today.

"Steve, I suck at this stuff," she tells him, because as much as she hates being helpless, she'll admit it to him. "I didn't even know what to say."

He lets out this breath that sounds like something of a laugh, and yeah, she feels a little proud that she can get something like that out of him considering how he must be feeling, but mostly she's just relieved. "I didn't need words," he says, squeezing her hip a little. She tucks herself closer, tangles her legs with his, and he smiles. "I just need you."

"Steve," she whispers. In any other moment, she might've called him a sap. But right now, she just smooths her thumb over his chest, holding his gaze. "You'll always have me."

 _I love you_ , she means, and he kisses her like he's saying it right back.


	42. Steve/Natasha - Civil War clip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those bruises on her neck? He hates them more than anything right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **for:** [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** [Civil War clip](http://fyeahmcublackwidow.tumblr.com/post/142816604590/matthew-daddarios-new-clip-from-captain) and [this post](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/post/142860315300/chalantness-here-i-am-trying-to-write-fluff-and)

Seeing them makes his heart tighten in his chest. He hates a lot of things that came of this, all of the casualties, all of the fighting, all of the arguing. He _hates_ it.

But those bruises on her neck? He hates them more than anything right now.

They're in a hospital, waiting for Rhodes to wake up ( _fuck_ ) and maybe it's the fact that Bucky won't really look him in the eye, or that Sam has his arm in a sling, or that Wanda hasn't really stopped crying since Clint took that bullet to his leg trying to save her. Maybe it's the fact that Pepper's hands haven't stopped shaking, or that Tony looks like he's going to fall apart at any second, but Steve catches those marks against her skin for the first time when she turns to say something to Maria beside her and he sort of _snaps_. He can't be here.

He gets up, chair scraping loudly against the linoleum, and he knows everyone is staring at him as he walks away, but he doesn't stop.

He turns the corner, walks right into the bathroom and sort of grips the edge of the sink with both hands, feeling it bend ever so slightly under his grip as he closes his eyes. He thinks he could probably shatter the thing right now if he wanted to.

(And he kind of does.)

The door opens a moment later, and somehow he isn't surprised when he hears her voice say his name, her heels clicking against the tile as she comes to a stop behind him.

He doesn't answer, just sort of squeezes his eyes a little tighter, until he feels her hand grasp his forearm. Her touch is gentle and somehow it makes him a little angrier.

She didn't deserve this. She got hurt and she didn't need to.

He _hates_ that she got hurt.

"Steve," she says again, and he lets out a breath, fingers tightening around the ceramic. "What's going on?"

"Who did it?" His voice is soft even to his own ears, but he feels her hand tense on his arm, so he knows she heard him.

"What?"

He opens his eyes, letting go of the sink so he can turn to face her. Her hand slides down from his arm, fingers threading into his automatically, and he knows she can feel the possessiveness in the way he squeezes onto her. His gaze drops onto her neck and then slides back up to meet her eyes, and he knows she knows what he's talking about.

"Who did it?" he repeats, voice slower, softer. He thinks he already knows the answer, and the press of her lips tells him that he's right. He looks away. " _Fuck_."

"Steve," she starts, and he can tell by her tone that she's going to say something to comfort him, to make it okay. But it's _not_ , and he's not going to let her get away with it.

He cradles his free hand over the back of her neck and presses their lips together, maybe with a little too much force, but he sort of can't help it. He _needs_ to kiss her. He's wanted to through all of this, _despite_ all of this, and even though she makes out this little noise of surprise, she melts into him within the same breath. Her fingers squeeze onto his even tighter as she nips at his bottom lip, kissing him back even harder. He feels her other hand come between them to grasp at the material of his shirt, gripping onto it tightly, like she's afraid that he'd slip through her fingers if she didn't. He feels the same. He smooths his thumb over the skin of her neck, over the spot he knows her bruise is, and she lets out a whimper.

He steps forward, pressing her back against the door as he pulls away, breathing hard as he watches her blink a few times, almost dazed.

"Natasha," he says. His throat is tight, and his voice comes out rough, and the way her expression softens at the sound if it makes his chest tighten a little more. "I'm _so sorry_."

He can't believe he hasn't said it until now.

"It's okay," she tells him quickly, like she can't get the words out fast enough. He starts shaking his head and her hands settle over his face. "Steve, I forgive you. Alright? It's okay."

He shakes his head again, vision blurring a little when he blinks. He's not going to cry and he knows it, but part of him wants to. He thinks part of him _needs_ to.

His gaze drops to her neck again, onto those bruises – those _damn bruises_ – and he dips his head, pressing a kiss over them. He feels her suck in a breath, and for a fleeting second, he thinks he's hurt her. But then her fingers slide into his hair, gripping tightly as her body curves against his, his name falling from her lips, and he kisses her neck again.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against her skin. "I'm so, so sorry, Natasha."

" _Steve_ ," she breathes. "It's okay." He starts to shake his head again but her hands hold him in place as she shakes hers instead. "You're here, and so am I, so it's okay. _It's okay_."

He lifts his head to meet her eyes, and as much as he hates seeing her cry, there's a strange twist of relief in his stomach at the tears dotted on her eyelashes.

She's wanted to be on his side again as much as he's wanted to be by hers. He can see it.

"Natasha," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. She slides her hands down, fingers settling at the curve of his neck, and he kisses her again. It's slower this time, soft but still as urgent, as _desperate_ , and he smooths his hand over her arms when he feels her start to shake. "I've missed you," he says, and she smiles against his lips, kissing him harder.


	43. Steve/Natasha - "Can I kiss you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Perfect timing, Cap. Dinner’s almost done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **for:** [the-romanogers-project](http://the-romanogers-project.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** [this headcanon](http://the-romanogers-project.tumblr.com/post/142514272737/so-i-was-thinking)

This thing between them is new, even though it really isn't, if he thinks about it. His feelings for her have been this way for a while, even before he realized it, and sometimes he'll still kick himself for taking so long because he knows exactly what it feels like to wait for the right time and have that taken away. There's never _really_ a right time, he thinks.

But this, _them_ , is right. It's always been. They've had an understanding since that first day they met, since they first had each other's backs in New York. It's familiar and he likes it.

He likes how things are now even more, though.

He likes getting to call her his girlfriend. Maybe that's old-fashioned of him, but she knows it's not a possession thing and she always gets that little grin of hers whenever he says it so it's fine. He likes holding her hand and that she always lets him, even if she rolls her eyes a little and pretends to be exasperated by it sometimes, which makes him laugh since she's kind of the more affectionate one. She likes to make the first move, maybe because she knows he's just going to ask for her permission, anyway, and also she's impatient. She sort of tugs him down by his shirt to kiss him, and she sits herself on his lap like she belongs there, and she presses her face into his neck, whispers how she can't wait for them to get home.

 _Home_.

He gets this sort of rush at the word every single time he hears it, and he doesn't hate the feeling whatsoever. He remembers the first time she said something like that, when he picked her up from the airport in the middle of the night after an assignment, and she sort of tucked herself into his arms and mumbled, "Let's go home," into his chest.

And they don't technically live together yet, but he thinks they almost do. Half of his stuff is at her apartment rather than the one he shares with Sam, and he stays in her bed more than he stays in his. He probably uses her kitchen more than she does, because he likes to cook and she doesn't, but she'll sit on the counter and keep him company when he does. There's a drawer of takeout menus, though, for when neither of them are up for it or just don't know what they want, or they'll go to this diner a few blocks down from the complex.

Tonight he gets in late from his assignment, which he knew he was going to, except he hadn't expected Natasha to be home a day early from hers.

"Perfect timing, Cap. Dinner's almost done."

She's standing at the stove, a glass of wine in hand as she turns to give him that little smile of hers over her shoulder. He always loves coming home to her, but there's something about the look in her eyes that makes his heart thump a little harder in his chest.

He drops his duffel onto the floor of the kitchen doorway and walks over to her, presses himself against her back as he kisses her temple.

"You didn't have to make dinner," he tells her. She hums a little, sips her wine as she leans against his chest. "It's late. You could've eaten without me."

"Wasn't hungry earlier," she says. "Grab me the strainer, will you?"

He does as he's told, sets it in the sink and then leans on his arm against the counter as she strains the noodles, then pulls out a tray of garlic bread from the oven and sets it on top of the stove next to a pot of marinara sauce. "It smells delicious," he says, which it does. Pasta is one of his favorites and it's one of the few things Natasha doesn't mind cooking.

She gives him a bit of a smirk. "I boiled noodles and heated up some sauce and bread. It's not like I made anything fancy."

He chuckles, thumbs the skin just above the waistband of her yoga pants as he slides his hand over her hip. "Still, you didn't have to cook anything. So thank you."

"Contrary to popular belief, Rogers, I'm not entirely inept in the kitchen."

She angles a bit of a smirk at him and it makes this warmth coil in his stomach, and honestly, all he really wants to do right now is kiss her. He'd been expecting to come home to an empty apartment and probably have to order something in, because he's kind of exhausted and didn't totally feel up to making anything, and ever since he moved in, instant dinners aren't a thing they keep around her apartment anymore. Natasha being home was already surprise enough, and he wouldn't have minded cooking them dinner, or if she had ordered something for herself. He would've been perfectly content with getting her back a day early, but coming home to _this_ , to her, was kind of the perfect thing. He could get used to this.

Then she sips a little more wine, lips tugging into a bit of a smile as she looks up at him from under her lashes, and he almost groans.

He really, really wants to kiss her, and he thinks he's still a little excited at the fact that she's home, and he is, too, because he sort of just steps into her space and dips his head towards her before he's totally realized it—

And then he pauses, nose nudging against hers as he blinks his eyes open, pulling back a little.

She furrows her eyebrows a little, eyelids fluttering open again as her lips tug into a bit of a frown. He immediately wants to kiss it away. "What?" she asks. "What's wrong?"

He breathes out a laugh, pulling her close to that her hips are flushed against his. "Nothing at all," he says, and whatever traces of worry ease from her expression at his tone. He thinks he'll always love how quickly he can calm her. "It's just—" He licks his lips a little, bringing his other hand up to cup her cheek. "Can I kiss you?"

She blinks twice, and he can see the slight confusion cross her expression as she holds his gaze – probably trying to figure out how serious he's being.

"Did you really just ask me that?"

"Yeah," he answers, lips quirking into a bit of a grin. "Why? Too old-fashioned?"

She shakes her head a little quickly, giving him a smile but bright smile that makes his skin tingle. "No, I—" She breathes out a bit of a laugh. "It just surprised me a little. But I liked it."

"Yeah?" he asks, and she nods, pressing herself against him a little more. He squeezes her hip. "So can I kiss you?

"Yes," she almost laughs, eyelashes fluttering. "Yes, of course."

He breathes out a bit of a chuckle of his – she's adorable sometimes and he loves it, he loves _her_ – and presses their lips together, grinning at the way she hums a little into the kiss and relaxes into his touch. She feels as content to have him back as he feels, and he wraps an arm around her waist, licks at the seam of her lips as he kisses her a little harder.

He loves being home.


	44. Steve/Natasha - college au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t understand why they decided to get drunk considering it was her birthday they’d dragged her out into celebrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **for:** [copinaskintightredandbluesuit](http://copinaskintightredandbluesuit.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "college au"

Of course this is Clint's fault.

She can count on one hand the number of times she's been hungover and Clint was the reason for every one of them. Last night wasn't supposed to be anything crazy, but you can't put Clint and Tony in a bar and expect either of them to behave, or stay within a reasonable amount of alcohol. She doesn't understand why they decided to get drunk considering it was _her_ birthday they'd dragged her out into celebrating, but whatever. She takes comfort in knowing that they're even more hung over than she is right now, because she has a mild headache but not a splitting one, and that's because Maria made her drink three glasses of water before letting her pass out last night. She's really missed them being roommates.

"I feel like shit."

" _Good_ ," she bites out. She crashed at Maria's new apartment instead of going back to Clint and Tony's, mostly because she didn't want to be woken up by the epic lecturing Laura and Pepper had just given them before he called. She feels a little weird about being in Maria's kitchen while the girl is still sleeping, though. "You sound like shit, too," she tells Clint.

"Shut up," he groans. He sounds terrible. If it makes her a bit of a bitch for finding this amusing, she hardly cares. "You get home alright?"

"I stayed at Maria's."

"The apartment she shares with like, three other guys?" He sounds a little defensive now and it makes her roll her eyes, even though she knows he can't see this.

"Yeah, so?" she asks. Honestly, he only ever gets protective of her when he's hungover and not thinking straight, otherwise he couldn't care less. (He cares a lot, actually, and she knows, but they mostly pretend to not care much for each other because that's just how they've been since high school.) And he may be hungover, but he should still know better than to think that Maria would let her roommates do anything creepy to her. Hell, he should know that there's no way Maria would live with anyone she didn't think she could trust.

"Calm down. Shit. You're so sensitive when you're hungover."

She rolls her eyes again and then just hangs up. Whatever. She knows he's too hungover to even be pissed about it.

Her stomach growls loudly. _Fuck_ , she's hungry. She knows Maria wouldn't care if she made herself something to eat, but she also feels like maybe she shouldn't. She doesn't want to eat something that one of her roommates was planning to cook with or whatever.

"Good morning."

She jumps a little, startled – because she knows that definitely hadn't been Clint – and looks over her shoulder as someone is walking into the kitchen.

She's met two of Maria's three roommates before, but only briefly, because they'd ran into Sam at the movies once and didn't have a chance to talk that much, and then Bucky called Maria over FaceTime to ask if she could pick him up from the airport and Natasha happened to have answered the call. When she met Steve last night, she was already three shots in and not all that concerned about making a good first impression, so she sort of ditched him after they were introduced and spent the rest of the night dancing with Maria and Sharon.

Until she saw this chick hitting on him at the bar.

Natasha rarely gets embarrassed, but she feels her cheeks flush at the memory, because really, it was not her place _at all_ to feel even a little bit jealous. There's no other way name for the uncomfortable curl of her stomach as she saw that brunette bat her eyes at Steve last night and, thanks to haze clouding her judgment, she just _reacted_.

God, she'd practically _thrown_ herself at Steve, and she didn't know why he'd let her. She sat on his lap like she belonged there and sort of draped herself across him all night.

She remembers how it felt, too, being so close to him. His breath was warm against the skin of her neck, hand flat against the small of her back to hold her in place, fingers brushing against her skin and making the heat in her stomach coil tightly at his touch. She doesn't really remember talking to him much after the girl had left, but she remembers sitting in his lap like that for the rest of the night in that booth, perfectly comfortable in his arms. She knows she tried to kiss him at least once, because she sort of found herself staring at his lips and she'd had her hand on his chest, his heart thrumming under her palm, and she thought he'd wanted it just as much as she did, which is why it hurt a little when he stopped her.

She knows that it was definitely a good thing that he did. But she'd really wanted to kiss him, and she still does now, even though she knows he doesn't want the same.

She's so fucked.

"Morning," she echoes softly.

He pulls open the fridge, grabs a bottle of Gatorade and hands it to her. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs a little. "Not terrible, at least," she says, which is true. It'll probably just take this bottle of Gatorade and some food to settle her stomach and she'll be fine.

"I'm glad." He gives her this little smile, and he sounds like he means it, which is a little ridiculous, all things considered. She'd been an _idiot_.

"Hey, about last night," she starts. He breathes a laugh, shaking his head, but she's not going to let him brush it off. Just because he's too nice of a person to have shoved her off of him last night doesn't mean she shouldn't still apologize. "I'm really, really sorry," she tells him. He meets her eyes. "I've never acted like that before, even drunk. Ask Maria."

He grins a bit. "I believe you. And it's really not that big of a deal."

"Steve," she says.

He breathes out another laugh and leans back against the counter. "Well, I must admit that when I met you, I wasn't expecting you to try and kiss me all night," he says. She knows he's not trying to be an ass, though, so she grins a little. "I like to think I'm a decent person, though. Even if it was pretty damn hard to stop you."

She feels her stomach flutter at this, which is kind of stupid, she knows, but still. "Yeah?" she asks, setting her chin in her hand. He grins a little and nods. "Good."

He breathes out a bit of a laugh, and she remembers how that had felt against her neck last night, remembers the way his chest rumbled as they were pressed together.

"Besides," he continues, pulling open the fridge to grab a carton of eggs, "when I do kiss you, I want you to remember it."

She arches an eyebrow. "When?" she repeats. "Are you already planning our first kiss?"

He smirks a bit. "Why don't we start with breakfast?" he asks, and she bites her lip a little. She knows she's still blushing, but she couldn't care less anymore.

(Maybe she'll have to thank Clint after all.)


	45. Steve/Natasha - "H-How long have you been standing there?" (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Married_. They're finally getting married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~500  
>  **for:** [solemnly-mystifying](http://solemnly-mystifying.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "H-How long have you been standing there?"

She runs her fingers over the delicate material, feeling her lips tug into a smile. _Married_. They're finally getting married, and she doesn't really know what to think about it, but she knows she feels this sort of giddy warmth in her stomach, making her insides flutter. It's stupid, and she's totally going to blame Steve for turning her into such a _sap_ , but whatever. She was never someone who pictured beautiful ceremonies like this, and yet, here she is, grinning like a schoolgirl as she holds a thin, lacy veil to her chest.

She turns the headpiece over, watching the jewels catch the light overhead. They're beautiful, but she knows they'll be sparkling even more so tomorrow under the glow of the glass chandeliers hanging from the church ceiling. She feels anxious ( _impatient_ ) and has this urge to slip the clip into place, and no one is around, so that's exactly what she does, sliding the teeth of the headpiece into the elegant bun she'd braided her hair into for the rehearsal dinner. She tugs the veil gently over her shoulders, slipping the front over her face, and she feels her heart thump in her chest as she catches her reflection.

 _Can't wait_.

Her blood is thrumming. She _can't wait_ to be married.

"Perfect," someone says, and she flinches ever so slightly in surprise, eyes glancing elsewhere in the mirror to catch Steve standing in the doorway, lips tugged upward into a smile. Her cheeks warm. She doesn't think she was the kind of person that blushed easily, but with Steve, it's different. With Steve, she can't help but react to him.

"Shut up," she breathes out on a laugh. He smiles a little wider. "How long have you been standing there?"

He grins but doesn't answer, crosses the distance between them, and she turns around, blinking her lashes as she looks up to meet his eyes. He slides his hands over her hips, squeezing over so slightly, and then brings a hand up to delicately finger the lace of the veil. "You're going to be so beautiful. You always are, but…" He trails off, holding her gaze, and she gnaws on her lower lip and nods. She knows. He doesn't have to finish the thought, because she already knows. She can't wait to see him in his tux, either. He gently moves the front of the veil up and over her hair and then leans down, nudging her nose with his as he presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek, breath warm against her face as he lets out a content sigh. "I can't wait."

She smooths her hands up his chest, grasping at his collar. "I know." She tips her head up, brushes their lips together, heart fluttering when he lets out a low groan. "But tomorrow is Tony and Pepper's day. We'll get there soon enough."

"Not soon enough," he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to the column of her throat.

"Impatient man," she says, and then lets out a little mewl as he nips at her skin.

_Definitely not soon enough._


	46. Steve/Natasha - "H-How long have you been standing there?" (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "H-How long have you been standing there?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **for:** [marvelousdorito](http://marvelousdorito.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "H-How long have you been standing there?"

She hadn't planned on it, obviously, but she… It's not like she can really help this, and Steve has been gone for five days now, which is the longest they've been apart for a while. She doesn't need to be with him all the time, because they're not one of _those_ couples, but shit. Steve is damn good at what he does and sometimes there are some threats that only a super soldier can handle. She gets this. She _does_. And she knows the girl isn't doing it on purpose, but if sending Steve abroad for this long is going to become a thing, she and Maria are going to have some words.

She's close - so, _so_ close - and she bites down a little harder on her lower lip and swears she's about to draw blood, back arching off of the bed. She works her fingers a little faster, pressing her palm flat against her nerves, and then lets out a breathy moan as she presses her face into the pillow, and -

And then she sucks in a gasp, pulling her hand away as she moves to sit upright, but his voice is soft in her ear, "It's me, it's me, Nat," and she exhales.

She'd barely heard him come into the apartment, and she knows it only has a little bit to do with her being distracted. He's just gotten that much better.

It takes a moment for her nerves to settle, but then Steve's hand is warm against the flat of her stomach, pressing her gently back against the mattress, and her attention is brought back to the heat between her legs and the fact that Steve is _here_ , with her, crowding into her space. She brings her arms up and winds them around his neck, legs trembling as he settles between them, her wet center brushing against the front of his jeans and making her whimper.

" _Steve_." She swallows, hard, and then lets out a mewl as he swipes a thumb over her nerves. "H-How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," he answers. His voice is low and gravelly, and that's all she really needs to know that he'd definitely been there long enough to watch at least a little bit of what she'd been doing. He definitely must've heard him moaning out his name as she worked herself up, and she'd be embarrassed, except it's _Steve_ , and there's nothing wrong about fantasizing about the man she loves, whose touch she's missed for five days.

He swipes his thumb again, circling her nerves, and she could fall apart in seconds. He knows how to make her, but she reaches between them and grasps his wrist, shaking her head even as her body trembles in protest.

"I want to feel you," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

He groans her name, pressing a wet kiss to the column of her neck, and she quickly works the belt off and pops open the front of his jeans, pushing it down his hips. At another time, he might've been making fun of her for being so eager, but she's always impatient and so is he. Right now she _needs_ him and she thinks he needs her just as much, because he just murmurs her name and helps her take his pants off, throwing them to the floor.

He presses into her slowly, holds her close as her body _shakes_ , and loves the low rumble of his chest as he fills her completely. She's already on the edge.

"Welcome home," she breathes.

He pauses for a second, meeting her eyes, and then gives her that smile she absolutely loves as he rolls his hips, slants his lips over hers and kisses the gasps from her as she falls apart around him. Her lungs burn and he pulls away so she can catch her breath, kissing down her neck as he keeps rolling his hips, and she cries out his name.

"I'm right here, Nat," he murmurs against her skin, holding her even closer. "I'm right here."


	47. Steve/Natasha - "You're hiding something from me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no way they’d waste any time when their Auntie Natasha and Uncle Steve are visiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **for:** [always-a-marvel-addict](http://always-a-marvel-addict.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "You're hiding something from me."

It's quiet, definitely too quiet, and when she glances at Steve, he sort of just catches her eyes and smiles a little. She's drying the dishes that he's washing, and it's quiet, which isn't exactly unusual between them, but there's something _off_ about it this time. She knows. He must be able to see the suspicion just beneath her expression, though, because he ducks his head and presses a kiss to her lips, lingering long enough that she, for a quick moment, just loses herself in him. He pulls back, smiling a little wider, and she can't help but smile back, even if she's still not entirely convinced that he isn't hiding anything.

(And she stopped pretending to hate how much he knows her, how well he can read her, a while ago. Mostly because it never really bothered her to begin with. It was never about her not being good enough to hide from him, but that she never _wanted_ to hide. Even if she did, she thinks that maybe he still would've been able to see right through her, and it's comforting, having someone that's that connected to you. She loves how it feels.)

She glances around the Bartons' house, finds Clint sitting on top of a blanket on the floor with Baby Nathaniel on his stomach, toys scattered around them. Laura is on the front patio, pinning the kids' bed sheets to the clothing wire to dry. Lila and Cooper are nowhere to be seen, and she knows that they both knocked out a couple of hours ago after Steve exhausted them from a day in the pool under the summer sun, but…

They should've woken up by now. There's no way they'd waste any time when their Auntie Natasha and Uncle Steve are visiting.

She turns back to Steve, squinting her eyes a little.

"You're hiding something from me."

He blinks, meeting her eyes again as he furrows his eyebrows at her. He's better. He's definitely gotten better at lying (for the mission, not to her) and putting on an act. But she can still tell that he isn't telling her something.

"What?" he asks.

She sets the dish towel down, glancing around the house again. "Where are the kids?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

He laughs a little, looks at her strangely as he twists the faucet off. "What are you talking about?"

She brushes him off, heading out of the kitchen. She glances up the staircase, considers going up there, but, _no_. She knows the kids aren't there anymore. She'd gone out for a walk with Laura to help her bring in the laundry from the shed and that's more than enough time for Lila and Cooper to have made their way down and out of sight if Steve was planning something, which she's pretty sure he is. He's just a big kid himself, really.

She turns towards the door, squinting a little. She hears Steve following her out of the kitchen, and she can tell that Clint is sort of watching her now, even as he babbles to Baby Nathaniel, but she just walks forward and almost yanks the door open -

And then lets out a yelp as she feels cold water hit her chest, wetting her shirt. Steve's arms wrap around her from behind, holding her in place as Lila and Cooper chorus in exclamation, dousing her in the iced water from their super-soakers. She can hear Steve and Laura laughing, and Lila and Cooper giggling, and then she feels Steve's fingers brush against her ribs, skimming right over her ticklish spots, and she twists in his arms, letting out a squeal as she tries to free herself.

After a moment, she gasps out, " _Stop_ , stop," and stops squirming, leaning her back against Steve's chest as she tries to catch her breath.

"We got you, Auntie Nat!" Lila exclaims, throwing her arms up, and Cooper gives her a proud, toothy smile.

"Yeah, you did," she says, grinning as she feels Steve press a kiss to her hair. "You got me."


	48. Steve/Natasha - "Please, don't give up on me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't know what breaks her heart more: the fact that things were never better to begin with, or the fact that he made her think they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **for:** [iavenge](http://iavenge.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Please, don't give up on me."

It's quiet as she wraps the bandaging around his knuckles, his blood soaking through layers and layers of gauze. If he notices that her hands are shaking ever so slightly as she keeps wrapping, he doesn't bother pointing it out. Or maybe he's as terrified to speak as she is right now, because this kind of quiet is almost suffocating, and she hates it. She _hates_ it. She doesn't really know how to make it better, though, and she should. She really should. She's supposed to be the one with the answers, and she thought she had them. She thoughts things were alright now.

She doesn't know what breaks her heart more: the fact that things were never better to begin with, or the fact that he made her think they were.

She hates herself for not noticing, either way. She's _supposed to notice_.

Something wet falls onto her hand, making her pause, and she looks up. His head is still ducked, so she can't see his face, but she can see those long eyelashes of his dotted with tears, can see the flush of his cheeks that always, always appears when he's trying hard not to cry, and she thinks this hurts her more than anything right now. She hooks her finger under his chin, tilting his head up, and his glassy blue eyes meet hers. That's really all it takes to make her last pieces of control slip from her grasp, and she lets out a little breath, squeezes her eyes shut as she kisses his forehead.

"It's alright," she murmurs, pulling back to meet his eyes again, but he won't look at her anymore. He's breaking her heart. "It's alright. Okay? Look at me."

He turns his head stubbornly - _stubborn_ , always so stubborn, this one - and clenches his fists together again. He's going to make the bleeding worse, and she wants to tell him this, but her voice is sort of caught in her throat.

"He hurt her," he rasps, eyebrows furrowing as he keeps his gaze away.

"James," she breathes.

"He _hurt_ her, Mom," he says, and then swallows, hard, expression turning cold, and it makes her stomach turn uneasily at the sight. Steve will swear that his temper comes from him, and she's stopped trying to argue, but no. No, she doesn't believe that for a second, because Steve's first instinct isn't to lash out when he's upset. His first instinct isn't too be violent.

There's only one person he gets that from.

"James," a voice cries softly, and James meets his sister's eyes as she pulls herself from her father's arms and almost throws herself at his side, burrowing her face into his shoulder. Her face is still wet with tears, and she's shaking as she draws her arms around him, and James's cold expression cracks in so many places as he holds her close. _His little sister_. He'd kill for her.

He came very close to doing that today.

Natasha hears Steve walking towards them, kneeling down next to Natasha. He drapes an arm over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she leans into his warmth, into his safety, and for a quick moment, everything is alright. They're a team, and they're going to get through this together - _all_ of them.

"Mom, Dad…"

James turns to look at them, cold expression entirely gone. A tear rolls down his cheek, lower lip trembling, and he's her baby again (he always will be) and she wants nothing more than to hold him in her arms - hold both of her babies in her arms - and keep them far, far away from the rest of the world.

"Please," he whispers, swallowing hard. "Please, don't give up on me."

She blinks, vision blurring with tears, and Steve's hand smooths over her back. Tatiana grips onto his arm so hard that her knuckles start turning white, but James doesn't even flinch. Steve reaches out, gently taking his injured hand.

"We are _never_ giving up on you, James," Steve says.

 _Never_.


	49. Peter/Wanda - "Please, don't give up on me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always pulls away from her at the last second, and she thinks that maybe it’s starting to hurt a little more each time, even if she tries not to let it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **for:** [copinaskintightredandbluesuit](http://copinaskintightredandbluesuit.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Please, don't give up on me."

He always pulls away from her at the last second, and she thinks that maybe it's starting to hurt a little more each time, even if she tries not to let it. He's so hard for her to figure out, because he's always smiling, always laughing, and she thinks it's genuine. He radiates energy, and _happiness_ , and she's been drawn to that from the start. But she also thinks that this sort of sadness she sees behind his eyes is genuine, too. Sometimes she looks into them and, for the briefest of seconds, she sees a kind of loneliness that breaks her heart.

Steve had told her about Gwen Stacy when Peter had first joined The Avengers, since he wanted her to sort of keep tabs on Peter, mentally and emotionally. She wants to hear about it from Peter, though. She doesn't want to poke around in his head, she wants to _earn_ his trust, wants him to feel like he can tell her these stories and feel whatever he wants to feel in her presence. So she waits, and she thinks that she's starting to chip away at the pieces, little by little. She sees the contemplation in his expression sometimes, when he has something on the tip of his tongue - like he really, really wants to tell her - but he always backs away at the last moment, and she hates it. She wants to help.

He tells her that he trusts her, and she believes him. But it's not strong enough for him to really reach out to her.

He tells her that he has feelings for her, maybe ones he's never felt for anyone else before, and she believes him. She thinks that's what he's afraid of most.

"Let's go out."

She looks up from her book, meeting his eyes, and he gives her that boyish smile she loves so much as he rolls off of her bed and onto her feet in a fluid motion, offering his hand. She grins a little, looks down at herself - she's wearing yoga pants and a camisole, and her hair is clipped up into this mess - and laughs. "I can't go out like this," she tells him.

He smiles a little wider. "You look beautiful."

She laughs again, even as her cheeks warm. "Stop," she says.

He leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead, and she closes her eyes as she leans into him. "You're perfect," he murmurs against her skin. Her heart flutters.

"Let me put on a jacket, at least," she says, and he chuckles as he nods.

He takes her hand again as they're walking out of the apartment, squeezes her fingers a little as they step onto the sidewalk. It's late and getting dark, but all of the lights are on and it's gorgeous. She doesn't really know where they're going or what they're doing, if he even has a plan in mind. She thinks he doesn't. He likes to be spontaneous and it's one of the things she loves most about being with him. She likes a little bit of excitement when she least expects it, so when he sort of tugs her down a path that winds through the edge of the park, she giggles a little and lets him lead the way. He's talking a mile a minute, the way he always does, detailing his mission with Tony in Sydney from two days ago. It's where he got that burn on his arm, and when he showed it to her, he'd said that "chicks dig scars" and gave her a cheeky smile, and she tried and failed to find him totally adorable.

He leads her onto the bridge that overlooks the harbor, and she maybe she's smiling a little too widely as she tips her head up, following the twinkling lights to their points overhead. She'd mentioned, once, how she wanted to cross this bridge, after they'd strung up all the lights. Of course he remembered.

"It's so pretty," she says, eyes falling onto the water, the twinkling lights glowing in the reflection. She sets her hands on the railing and stretches on her toes -

And then she feels a hand on her arm, tugging her back a little. She looks over her shoulder at Peter, a fleeting look of _terror_ in his eyes, his hand still gripping onto her tightly. Like he'd been afraid she was going to fall. He swallows a little as he holds her gaze, and she stares right back, offering a small smile that sort of settles the wild look in his eyes. She watches his expression ease every so slightly, but he doesn't try to pull back, either, a flutter of hope warms her chest.

"I'm sorry," he says. He loosens his hold on her but doesn't let go. She doesn't mind, though. "I just…" He licks his lips, shakes his head a little.

"It's okay," she tells him, because it is. It's alright.

He furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly, drawing her closer, and she lifts her hand and places it against his cheek. He leans into her palm, lips tugging into a smile of his own. "I want to talk about it with you." His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but there's a force to it, too. "I trust you. I just don't think I can… I don't think…" He shakes his head. "Please, just don't give up on me."

Her chest tightens, warmth fluttering in her stomach.

She nods, stretches on her toes, and he lifts a hand to cradle to back of her head as he slants his lips over hers. He holds her close, kisses her like he's making a promise he intends to keep, and she knows that she believes him.


	50. Steve/Natasha - "Don't say you love me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She holds her breath a little, every time she thinks he’s going to say the words to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **for:** [theartofneuroticimagination](http://theartofneuroticimagination.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Don't say you love me."

She holds her breath a little, every time she thinks he's going to say the words to her, but then he stops himself and she… doesn't know what she feels about it. She just - she just _doesn't know_. What she does know is that she thinks she loves him as much as he loves her, and it's a fine line they've been walking for a while, and it shouldn't be so scary to get the words out, but it is. So they don't really talk about it, and when they do, they talk in vague circles that don't really get them anywhere. It's not a healthy way to handle something so important and they know this, but she's stubborn and he's even more so, so they manage to get away with it.

Things are good between them. They can be better, though.

She came home late from a mission last night, let herself into his apartment and sort of tucked herself into his side under the covers, and she wakes up with his arm still around her. His hold isn't tight, isn't suffocating, but his grip is safe and his large body is pressing against her back, and she's already a little bit in love with how it feels to wake up in his arms. This is hardly the first time, and she's really, really hoping it won't be the last, either.

"Natasha," he murmurs against her hair, and she shifts a little closer, turns and presses a kiss to his arm that's tucked under her head. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she whispers back.

He hums, warm breath tickling the back of her neck, and she gnaws on her lower lip at the sensation. "Thought I was just dreaming about you last night," he says, drawing her even closer. She can practically hear him smiling.

"You're so cheesy," she tells him, and his chest rumbles with a chuckle.

"You love it," he says.

She breathes out a chuckle. "Only because I love you," she says, and it takes a second longer than it should for her to catch her words, but they're already out there and her heart thumps in her chest because she hardly ever slips up and _never_ with something this big. She licks her lips, waits for him to say something, but he's totally quiet. If not for the gentle press of his chest against her back with his heavy breaths, she'd wonder if he was still awake right now.

"Natasha," he whispers, voice soft even to her ears right next to his lips, and she turns herself in his arms and meets his wide, wild eyes. He blinks a few times, holding her gaze, and she can't… she _can't_ handle this right now. "Nat - "

"Stop," she breathes, bringing her thumb up and smoothing it over his lips.

He swallows. The words are right there, she can tell. They're _right there_.

She's not going to let him say them, though.

"Don't," she says, tracing the corner of his mouth. "Don't say you love me."

"Natasha," he starts.

But she shakes her head, places her hand over his where it's resting over her hip, and guides it over her curves and between her legs, watching his eyelids flutter ever so slightly as his fingers graze the front of her cotton panties.

"Don't say you love me." She squeezes his fingers. " _Show me_."

She watches his eyes, watches the lust (the _love_ ) sparkle behind them at her words, and he licks his lips a little as he nods. He rolls them over so that she's pressed into the mattress and then dips his head, pressing a slow, wet kiss to her collarbone as his fingers press over her nerves through her panties in these slow circles that makes a warmth pool in her stomach. He lifts his head, eyes dropping to her lips, and she thinks he's about to kiss her, but them his lips slide over the underside of her jaw, nipping at her skin as his thumbs hook over the waistband of her panties and starts tugging them down. He kisses down the column of her neck, sucks over her pulse, and she breathes out his name. She wants him to kiss her.

Why won't he kiss her?

His fingers press at her nerves, tracing up and down her folds, making her breath stutter as he works her up, and her back arches off of the bed a little. He knows her so well, knows exactly what to do to dissolve her into a trembling, shaking mess, until she can't do anything but whimper as he whispers sweet things in her ears. She hooks her hand over the back of his neck, draws his face to hers, but he turns away and kisses the apple of her cheek. She very nearly cries.

" _Steve_ ," she breathes.

He grazes her entrance, drawing a gasp as she tips her head back into the pillows, but he tucks his arm under her and presses her to him as he slowly sinks inside her. She _cries_ , nails scraping over his back, and he groans a little at her touch as he fills her. Her skin tingles, and her stomach coils, and her lungs feel like they're burning, like she can't breathe, but he still won't kiss her and she's not sure if she's going to enjoy the high if he doesn't.

"You're beautiful," he says, rolling his hips slowly. _I want you_.

She tugs his face towards hers, drawing a shaky breath.

"You're perfect," he says, flexing his fingers over her hips. _I need you._

He angles his hips, rolling against her, sinking in deeper, and her lips part in another cry as she holds onto him even tighter, entire body shaking.

He kisses the corner of her mouth again and she digs her nails into his arms.

"You're my everything," he says, and then finally - _finally_ \- presses his lips over hers, kissing away her whimpers as she falls apart.

 _I love you_ , _too_.


	51. Steve/Natasha - "I miss her so damn much, and it's killing me that she's gone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think I’m going crazy, Sam?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~800  
>  **for:** [romanogerscs](http://romanogerscs.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "I miss her so damn much, and it's killing me that she's gone."

She falls asleep with Wanda on the couch to a marathon of _Friends_ , and it's hardly the first time for this to happen. Natasha doesn't mind it as much as she thought she might, because she's lived with Wanda and Pietro for a while now and it's kind of hard to act as if she doesn't like the way that Pietro always holds the door open for them and starts massaging their shoulders when they get a second to sit down, or the way that Wanda always leaves little notes around the apartment that has her name signed with a smiley face at the bottom and brings a blanket over to cuddle up next to Natasha on the couch.

She knows it's a vision as soon as she's in it, and no, this isn't the first time to happen, either. Wanda doesn't do it on purpose, and her control has gotten a lot better since joining The Avengers and having them to help her navigate through things. But she can't always help it when she's asleep, and Natasha has experienced these visions enough times to not be startled when she's pulled into one.

"Steve."

Natasha blinks, the room blurring into focus, and she finds herself standing in the middle of a dark hotel room. There's a pang in her chest as she recognizes Steve sitting at the table in the corner, his elbows on his knees, gripping a glass of some kind of dark liquor in one hand as he runs his other hand over his face. Sam is standing across from him, lips pressed together tightly.

"I couldn't find you anywhere, man," Sam says. His tone sounds like he wants to be annoyed, but it comes out worried, instead.

"I'm sorry." Steve rubs at his neck, shakes his head. "I needed to get away."

Sam's expression smooths into understanding, and maybe a little bit of sympathy, too. "You saw her?" he asks, but it doesn't sound like a question.

"Thought I did," Steve answers, blowing out a breath as he sits back in his chair. He shakes his head, glancing away. "You think I'm going crazy, Sam?"

Sam shakes his head, walking over to sit down in the chair across from Steve. Natasha can see it in the way Sam is eying Steve, the forced nonchalance in his expression: he's seen Steve like this before. Natasha's chest squeezes at the realization, because she remembers Sam mentioning it once, how Steve had been a little distraught, a little _lost_ , in their time searching for Bucky. In the time she'd walked away and disappeared. Sam had told her that Steve was different, but seeing it sort of breaks her heart, and she knows that the guy wouldn't have said anything unless she asked, and couldn't have asked if she didn't know the details, but… She didn't realize it had ever been this bad.

"You think you're seeing her because you miss her," Sam says. "There's nothing crazy about that."

"I do miss her." Steve swallows, hard, hand gripping the glass so hard she thinks she hears it starting to crack under the pressure. "I miss her so damn much, and it's killing me that she's gone." He brings his other hand up, wipes at his eyes. Sam ducks his head, curling and uncurling his hand atop his knee. He wants to say something, she can tell. But he's not going to. Sam knows when to push and when not to. "It just sucks, you know? I thought that we had…" He shakes his head again. "I thought there was something there, but I guess whatever it was, it wasn't enough for her to want to stay."

Natasha blinks, feeling her eyes sting.

It _was_ enough. He _is_ enough. He's why she came back.

"She's coming back, Steve," Sam says. "I was watching you two. I saw you two the whole time, and what you have is enough for her to want to come back."

Steve breathes out an empty laugh, taking another gulp of scotch.

If he says something to Sam after that, she doesn't get to see it, because then she's blinking her eyes open again, vision blurring back into focus through the fog of sleep, and she groans a little as she wakes up. She feels the couch shift beside her, feels Wanda's hand in hers, squeezing her fingers a little, and she turns her head to meet Wanda's bright eyes. There's an apologetic smile on her face, and Natasha gives the girl a bit of a smile in return.

"You okay?" she asks.

Natasha nods, brings a hand up and pushes Wanda's hair from her face. "Yeah," she says. "I just… I'm going to make a phone call, alright?"

Wanda's smile brightens, squeezing their fingers again as she nods, and Natasha sits herself up and stands, grabbing her phone off the coffee table. She glances back at Wanda as the girl tucks the blanket up under her chin. "Tell Steve I say hi," she says, and Natasha rolls her eyes, smiling as she walks away.


	52. Steve/Natasha - "They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t need the time off, exactly, but they’re not about to refuse it, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M  
>  **word count:** ~700  
>  **for:** [aquajules](http://aquajules.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous."

Two weeks at Tony's beach house, tucked away from prying eyes. Tony gave them the keys, paid for their rental cars and told them that he'd find a way to have their access denied from the facility if they tried coming home even a day early. He probably would've had their lines turned off, somehow, if it weren't important to be able to reach them in case of emergency. They know that's his way of saying that he's worried about them, and everyone had insisted that they take the offer. She knows they all worry, and honestly? They don't _need_ the time off, exactly, but they're not about to refuse it, either. Maria can handle things for two weeks, and she'll have Nick there. Things will be fine.

Sam and Sharon are there, too, because things have been just as crazy for them, and Natasha doesn't mind. Of course she'd like some time alone with Steve, but it's a big house - it's a big _property_ , a good drive away from the closest town, and that's just far enough to truly feel alone. The four of them don't _have_ to spend all of their time together, but it's nice to get to hang out with Sam and Sharon, too. She and Sharon took a walk along the beach when Sam and Steve went to get groceries, and then she and Sam walked around an outlet mall while Steve and Sharon took surfing lessons.

It's pretty great here.

They don't have any plans in mind for today, and she thinks that since they've gone out for one reason or another since arriving, this will be their day to stay inside the house and not do _anything_.

Natasha doesn't mind. She's sitting on the couch with her feet tucked up underneath her, book propped open on the pillow in her lap, and that's how Steve finds her when he walks in. She glances up, giving him a smile, and he leans over the back of the couch to press a kiss to her lips, humming softly.

"Where'd Sam and Sharon go?"

Natasha's lips tug at the corners a bit. "I heard their shower go off when I went upstairs to grab my book," she tells him, and Steve breathes out a chuckle as he shakes his head. Honestly, one of the best things about being around Sam and Sharon is that this thing between them is still pretty _new_ , and it's pretty great to see them so happy. That doesn't mean they need to _hear_ it, though.

"It's amazing those two can ever keep their hands to themselves," Steve says as he walks around the couch, sinking into the cushions beside her. There's that sparkle in his eyes and she finds herself closing her book, not bothering to save the page as she sets it aside. "They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous."

She arches an eyebrow. "Sounds to me like you want to try it."

He hums, reaches for her and pulls her across his lap, her legs straddling his hips. He tucks his hand into her hair, thumb smoothing over her scalp in that way that always, always drives her crazy. "Our water bill would be ridiculous," he tells her, and she's laughing as she slants her lips over his. All she really wants to do right now is kiss him, so she does, and he's pretty content to let her do it.

She doesn't really think much about their conversation until later, when she's peeling out of her bathing suit and stepping into the shower. She stands under the water and closes her eyes, but she hears him, of course, so the little yelp she lets out when he's stepping in behind her is less out of surprise and more out of anticipation. She breathes out a laugh, leaning into his bared chest, and he presses a kiss to the curve of her neck. The heat from the water and the heat from _him_ is a little too much, but she loves it, and his fingertips send tingles over her skin as he flattens a hand over her stomach.

"Okay, so maybe I did want to try it," he admits, pressing her to him. She tips her head back and he groans low in his chest.

"Not our water bill," she reminds, and then parts her lips in a moan as he shifts his hips, grazing her folds.

"Then I'll be sure to take my time."


	53. Steve/Natasha - "This is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like he would think to ask if Natasha had gotten home a day early and decided to surprise Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~700  
>  **for:** [izzycheeese](http://izzycheeese.tumblr.com/) and [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "This is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear." + [this conversation](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/143549518456/romanogers-37-please)

Steve basically lives with Natasha now, even though he still has a room in the apartment Sam shares with him and still pays half their rent, which Sam doesn't really get, but whatever. He knows the guy just doesn't want to make him pay rent for a two-bedroom apartment in New York on his own, but Steve only really sleeps in his own bed maybe once or twice a week, and more than half of his stuff is in her apartment. (Sam knows, because the guy doesn't keep his good razor by the bathroom sink anymore, and the last time Natasha had both of them and Sharon over for dinner, Sam saw the collection of novelty mugs he'd gifted to Steve in Natasha's cabinet.)

Sharon's class with the new recruits wraps up earlier than expected, and Sam thinks they can just kill time at his place since their dinner reservation is in half an hour and his building is closer to the restaurant than hers. He probably could've text Steve before they got to the apartment, but that's not something either of them really do. It's not like they have to check in with one another or something, and it's not like he would think to ask if Natasha had gotten home a day early from her assignment and decided to surprise Steve at the apartment.

Otherwise Sam would've connected the dots a lot faster.

"Did you just - "

"No," Sam answers, and really, he probably shouldn't find the situation funny even though it kind of is. "No, that noise definitely wasn't me."

"Ah," she says, and then rubs her lips together. She looks like she's trying not to laugh and that makes him chuckle, especially when there's a soft thud that comes from down the hallway a moment later. Sharon's face cracks into a smile as she brings her hand up to cover her mouth, and she looks kind of adorable when she's trying not to laugh like he knows she wants to. "Maybe it's not - "

Then there's a _moan_ , and another thud, and a soft giggle bursts from Sharon's lips.

"Geez," Sam mutters. He really, really shouldn't want to laugh right now.

Sharon is already walking towards him and the front door again, which Sam hadn't even closed before he figured out that they weren't exactly alone. She looks a little embarrassed right now, which might seem kind of ridiculous since it's not like the two of them haven't been overhead before. and it's definitely not like they haven't all overheard Steve and Natasha at this point, but still.

Listening to them even gives _Sam_ the urge to blush.

There's a sharp cry from down the hallway as he and Sharon are leaving, and Sam makes sure to shut the door loud enough for Steve and Natasha to hear.

"They're terrible," Sam says, and Sharon giggles as she kisses his cheek.

Sam gets a text from Steve towards the end of dinner to say that Natasha's craving crepes and he'll make some for him and Sharon, too, if they don't feel like ordering dessert. Sam knows the guy well enough to read this is as an apology and a way of saying that it's safe to come back to the apartment, and Sharon just laughs and shakes her head when Sam tells her this. They're not about to say no to anything Steve cooks, though.

Natasha's sitting on the couch in the pajama shorts she keeps in Steve's dresser and a shirt that's definitely not hers, judging by the way it's practically falling off of her shoulders. It does nothing to hide the coloring along the curve of her neck, but obviously she's comfortable enough around Sam and Sharon to not care much, and she knows they heard her and Steve earlier, anyway.

"How was your evening?" Natasha asks.

"Great," Sharon answers, shrugging out of her coat. "How was yours?"

Natasha _laughs_. Sharon smirks and Steve shakes his head. "Please don't answer that," Sam says. Natasha shrugs a shoulder but complies.

Sharon sits beside Natasha on the couch, kicking out of her heels, and Natasha offers the girl a sip of her wine. Steve walks in from the kitchen, a plate of crepes in each hand, and Sharon grins at him. "This is why you don't ever have any shirts to wear," Sharon says, tugging at Natasha's sleeve.

"Well, we all know how much Natasha hates to share," Sam chimes in, and they all laugh.


	54. Steve/Natasha - "Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me to hate you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go on a date with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~700  
>  **for:** [de-lphic](http://de-lphic.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me to hate you?"

She doesn't really make him work for it or anything, but it's hard to find any real time to themselves to begin with, let alone an actual day for him to take her out on a date or anything. She knows it's what he's wanted to do for a while, except their schedules are too crazy to make it work, and when they do have time off together, they'd rather just stay in because they'll take all the peace they can get these days. This has always been the side effect of what they do and they both knew it going into things, but they make it work.

She knows that he still wants to take her out more often, though, and she knows that he really does love just spending time with her, even if all they do is lounge around her apartment all day. But he's always a little bit disappointed that they haven't really gone on a first date or anything yet, and it makes her want it, too, which is a little ridiculous since she never used to think things like this before Steve came along. He's making her soft and they both know it.

(He says that part of her has always been soft, but she just couldn't express it as much as she can now, and she knows he's right. He always is.)

"Go on a date with me."

"What?"

His head is dipping below the sheets, lips brushing over her ribs as his hands are pressing her legs apart. She's a little distracted right now.

"Go on a date with me," he says again, breath tickling over the skin of her stomach where her desire is coiling even tighter. She lets out this little noise as she closes her eyes. "We have tomorrow to ourselves. Let me take you out."

She combs her hands through his hair, feels her lips tug into a smile.

"I thought a gentleman is supposed to ask?"

He laughs softly, mouth hovering right over her heat. "Will you go on a date with me, Natasha?" he asks, and then rolls his tongue over her nerves, and her lips part as she twists her fingers in his hair and lets out a breathless, " _Yes_."

He gives her this proud little smile after, kisses her on the lips, and she'd be more irritated by what he just did if she wasn't a little proud of him herself.

He's up before she is the next morning, which is nothing new, but it takes a little less time to shake off her sleep than it usually does, and, okay, maybe she's more excited about going on a date with him than she'll admit. It seems like it should be ridiculous, and it is, a little, but she's alright with that, especially when Steve walks in with a tray of breakfast and that dimpled smile of his. He sets the tray over her legs, and she can't help but laugh at the small vase of flowers next to her plate of pancakes. She knows one of his downstairs neighbors is an older lady who owns her own flower shop, and Steve helps her bring her groceries up all the time. The lady would be more than willing to do Steve a favor at the last second if he asked, but obviously small flower arrangements still take a bit of time, which means Steve had this planned out at least a little bit in advance.

She's never been a big fan of flowers, mostly because she just wouldn't know how to take care of them if she tried, but these are beautiful and she can't even pretend to not be as touched by the gesture as she is. He's ridiculous.

"It's our first date, you know," he points out, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. "I have to make a good first impression."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Do I want to know what you have planned?"

"Probably not. I know how much you hate romance and all that."

He's teasing and she knows, and she makes a face and pretends to kick him. He catches her ankle with his hand, smooths his thumb over her skin, and she doesn't know why she loves that little sensation so much, but she does.

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "Trying to make me hate you?"

He breathes out a chuckle, grasps her chin with his fingers and draws her a little closer, kissing her softly, and her heart flutters in her chest.

"You couldn't hate me," he murmurs against her lips.

She knows he's still teasing, but she reaches between them, gripping the material of his shirt a little too tightly as she holds his gaze and answers, "No, I couldn't," and he just smiles at her like he knows what she's really saying.


	55. Steve/Natasha - Natasha finds out Steve sleeps with a Black Widow plushie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Tony showed up at their door with an armful of gifts, but he knew there was some sort of catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,500  
>  **for:** [marvelousdorito](http://marvelousdorito.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Natasha finding out Steve sleeps with a Black Widow plushie? (blame Chris for saying he sleeps nude with an Iron Man plushie)"

It's a gift from Tony, of course, because who else would see this and even think about actually buying it except him?

Tony likes to be clever in a way that Steve still doesn't totally understand, and Steve wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Tony showed up at their door with an armful of gifts, but he knew there was some sort of catch. Maybe not for the kids, because Tony just likes to give them things for no particular reason the way he does with his own kids. But Steve knows that there's got to be a reason for the cheeky smile Tony had on through his short visit, and once Tony's gone and the kids are tearing into their presents in the middle of the living room floor, Steve walks into the dining room to look into his own gift bag. (The tag has _To Cap_ written in Tony's scrawl and is signed with an Iron Man sticker, which has sort of been this thing between all of them ever since they figured out Target carried The Avengers stickers. It's ridiculous, but then again, so are they.)

He resists the urge to laugh when he lifts the thing out of the tissue.

He's seen these plushes, of course. They're everywhere now so it's hard to miss, and it was kind of hilarious at first when The Disney Store had released them, but not all that unusual considering how much merchandise has already been made in their likeness, bearing their logos. Hell, James even owns a pair of Iron Man pajamas. His Uncle Tony gifts it to him every Christmas.

There's a card at the bottom of the gift bag that reads, _So you're not lonely while the wife's away_ , and then is signed with a smiley face.

Natasha's out of the country for a mission and will be gone a week, at least. It's rare that either of them are gone for that long, even though the kids are a little older now and, technically, it shouldn't be as hard for one of them to take care of them on their own while the other is working. It's not something they like to do a lot of, though. James and Tatiana know that Mommy or Daddy has to be away for work sometimes, and they take it well for the most part, but obviously it's still hard. Obviously they're going to miss their mom, and they're still going to ask for her when it's time to tuck them into bed, because they're so used to it.

Steve doubts any of this was running through Tony's head when he decided to buy a Black Widow plush, though.

(Or maybe it was. Tony likes to poke fun, but he's a lot more sentimental then he pretends to be, and Steve _supposes_ this might count as a good intention.)

"Daddy, come look!" James exclaims, and Steve calls back with, "Be there in a second, bud," as he sets the plush back down in the bag.

... ...

He moves the plush when he's cleaning up so he can start dinner and doesn't really think of it again until later, when he's tucked the kids into bed and walks into the bedroom to find it on his pillows. It crosses his mind for a second to just toss it, but it seems like a waste. He should probably just stick it in Tatiana's room so she can find it later, but she's a light sleeper like her mom, so he won't be able to go back into her room without waking her up. He'll give it to her in the morning, he decides, and moves it onto Natasha's pillows as he climbs into his side of the bed.

... ...

He wakes up in the middle of the night a few nights later, which still happens sometimes when Natasha isn't right next to him, and he sort of just runs his hand over her side of the bed, catching sight of the Black Widow plush still propped on her pillows. He keeps forgetting to move it.

A soft sound from down the hallway catches his attention, and he gets up and heads over to Tatiana's room to find the girl awake in her bed, clutching her blanket tightly in her little hands. She doesn't look like she's been crying, and she's never been one to cry much, anyway, but she sometimes lets out this soft little sound that's just as heartbreaking, and when she realizes he's there, she looks at him with these wide, sad eyes that makes his chest tighten a little.

"Come here, baby," he says, walking over to her bed, and she holds her arms up so he can carry her. He thinks she's probably a little too old to be sleeping in her parents' bed, but Tatiana and James were pretty independent kids from the start. They've always slept in their cribs, and then their own beds, so he thinks it's alright to let one night slide. "Let's go to bed, okay?"

She rubs her eye tiredly, bobs her little head in a nod, and he kisses her cheek as he walks them back to the bedroom.

She's practically asleep already when he sets her down, and she rolls over a little so that she's in the middle of the bed, grabs at the Black Widow plush almost absently and hugs it to her chest. She probably doesn't even realize what she's holding, because she sleeps with a bunch of stuffed animals on her bed to begin with, but the sight is still pretty damn adorable. It makes him smile.

... ...

She's still clutching the thing the next morning at the breakfast table as he makes their pancakes. She's usually up pretty early on her own, but he's up even earlier and him getting out of bed had woken her, so she's still sort of shaking off sleep when James pads down the staircase. It's hilarious, the way James sort of just stops when he sees the plush, forehead creasing in slight confusion. He makes the same face Natasha does whenever something's caught her off-guard and Steve will probably never get over that.

"What's that, T?" James asks, climbing onto the chair beside her. She perks up a little more, smiling at her brother as she pushes the plush into his face.

"A gift from Uncle Tony," Steve says, and James makes this noise of understanding. Tatiana presses it closer to his face, more insistent, and James just goes along with it, making a kiss sound so that she'll pull it back and giggle in amusement. This is hardly the first time they've done this before, and maybe it's all in his head, but Steve thinks he sees James smiling a little wider as he watches Tatiana hug the Black Widow plush to her chest. He actually kind of looks like he wants to hug the thing, too.

Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head.

... ...

The plush makes it back onto their bed by the end of the day, and Steve is honestly too tired to mind it much as he climbs under the comforter. It's obvious that they'll be keeping it, and he'll just tell Tatiana in the morning that it's hers so it can stay in her room instead.

The next day, Steve's in the kitchen making lunch, watching them playing in the backyard through the window when car pulls into the driveway, and James and Tatiana both brighten at the sound of it and run into the house. Steve chuckles, shakes his head as he follows, but he can't help the flutter in his chest, either, when Natasha walks through the door and drops her bag onto the floor, kneeling down so that James and Tatiana can throw their arms around her. She peppers their cheeks with kisses, her smile bright, _happy_ , and then she catches his gaze over their shoulders and there's this sparkle in them that sends this warmth through his stomach.

 _God_ , he's missed her.

She straightens up to stand, still holding his gaze as she greets, "Hey, soldier," and he breathes out a chuckle, grasping her by her hips and pulling her to him in a kiss. It's ridiculous that, after two kids and ten years of marriage, that little voice of hers still drives him as crazy as it did when they first met.

She pulls back a little sooner than he knows either of them wanted, but their kids are watching, and he knows that they'll have a proper reunion later.

"Lunch is almost ready," he says, squeezing his hand over her hip just because he has the urge to.

She nods, leans in and brushes another kiss to his lips before heading up the stairs to change into something more comfortable. He nudges the kids towards the hallway so they can wash up, then grabs her bag where she'd set it down and walks it into the laundry room. He'll empty it out when he starts a load later.

He heads into the kitchen to set the table, and a few minutes later, Natasha walks in with this amused look on her face that makes him pause.

"What the hell is that on our bed?"

Shit. He'd forgotten to put that away.


	56. Steve & Wanda - Steve rescuing Wanda from The Raft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to know who did this to her. [SPOILERS for Captain America: Civil War]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **for:** [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)

He can't believe this.

Wanda meets his eyes through the glass, forehead wrinkling ever so slightly, lips tugging into a wry smile, and he thinks he's never wanted to hit something so much before. There's this fleeting, feverish moment where he wants to know who did this to her. Who the hell decided that she needed to be restrained? He feels his hands curl into fists, tight and rigid at his sides, and, briefly, he remembers arguing with Tony – remembers the white, hot flash of _anger_ that shot through Steve when he had learned that Tony had kept Wanda confined.

A hand touches his shoulder and Steve exhales slowly, tilting his head to look at Sam, the same sort of rage reflected just underneath the guy's expression.

Getting the cell open takes a little less time that it had taken to free the others, but as soon as they get through the glass, Wanda almost doesn't move. She's sort of just leaning her back against the wall, gaze detached and far away. She looks incredibly _young_ in this moment and Steve's chest tightens as he says her name, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Wanda," he says again when she doesn't respond, reaching out to brush her hair from her face, and her eyelids flutter closed at his touch as she leans against his palm.

"I was worried about you." Her voice is so soft that he hardly catches it, even with her standing so close.

"Me?" he asks. She nods once, leans a little more into his palm. Clint walks around them and starts undoing the clasps of her straightjacket, all but glaring at the thing as he swallows hard, clenching his teeth. Steve feels the same, honestly. "Hey," Steve says softly, stroking his thumb over her cheek, and she blinks her eyes open again, staring up at him, and the _worry_ in her eyes is almost a punch to his gut. She swallows a little, eyelashes dotting with tears, and Steve feels his heart squeeze in his chest as her smile cracks around the edges. He remembers the last time she gave him this smile – this beautiful, broken little thing – in the dark of her room, wiping her tears away and letting him pull her into his arms so she could cry. He remembers how her voice shook when she told him that she missed her brother, and he remembers how her cries had ebbed, how her body had eased into his arms when he told her that he was there for her. He promised that he wouldn't let anything happen. Seeing her like this now, restrained, _broken_ – he hates that he couldn't keep his word.

"I was worried, Steve," she tells him, shaking her head ever so slightly. Her voice is almost a whisper. "If something had happened—"

"Stop, stop," he murmurs softly, pulling her to him, and she sort of just tucks her face against his shoulder. The material of her straightjacket falls from her shoulders a little when Clint finally loosens it, and he tugs on her elbows, gentle but urgent, until she unfolds her arms and wraps it around him tightly. "I'm right here, Wanda," he tells her. "Okay? Right here."

She nods, pushes her face a little more into his shoulder as she lets out this soft sound, muffled against his jacket.

"You should've seen her, Steve," Clint says, voice gruff. Steve meets his eyes, a little surprised at the slight smirk that tugs its way onto his lips. "She kicked some serious ass."

"At the airport?" Scott asks. He sounds like he's trying not to sound too excited about it. "We all saw."

"Nah, back in New York, against Vision." His expression turns a little smug now, a little _proud_. "She took him down like it was nothing."

"Yeah?" Steve feels Wanda let out a breath against his shoulder, lifting her head, and he feels the tightness in his chest ease as he sees her expression. Her smile is a little brighter now, a little _happier_. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she just lets out a bit of a shaky laugh as he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. "How did you feel?"

Pride touches the edges of her smile now. He doesn't think he's ever seen her quite like this and it's refreshing.

It's great.

"Powerful," she answers, bringing her hand up. The edge of her sleeve falls away as she rolls her wrists, flexes her fingers, red wisps circling her hand. Her lips part slightly, head tilting and eyes sparkling as she watches her own light dancing across her skin. She looks completely at peace. She looks completely in control.

She glances up, meeting his eyes again. He smiles, too. "Afraid?"

She wrinkles her nose a little, lips quirking into a bit of a smirk as she shakes her head. "Not even a little bit," she says, and he breathes out a chuckle, squeezing her shoulder.

"Glad to hear that, because we've still got work to do." He pulls back a little, tucks his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He watches Wanda's eyebrows furrow a little in confusion as she takes it gently in her hands, and then the realization crosses her expression as she recognizes whose these are.

 _Natasha_.

Clint murmurs a curse. Wanda grasps onto the material of Steve's jacket, her other hand gripping onto the sunglasses a little tighter. "The airport—I thought that she'd—"

"She helped you escape," Sam guesses, taking a step closer. He sees both relief and worry in the guy's expression as he stares at the shades. "But she isn't with you right now?"

Steve shakes his head, swallowing. His throat feels a little tighter. "Lost her at the airport, too," he says, curling and uncurling his fingers at his side. He looks over at Scott, whose grin hasn't really left ever since Steve showed up to bust them out, and then his gaze slides over to Clint, his thoughts reflected in the guy's expression. "We're going to find her."

"Alright," Scott says, clapping his hands together. "We're getting the band back together."

"You were never in the band to begin with," Clint mutters. Scott brushes him off, already heading for the door, Sam and Clint falling into step behind him.

Steve turns to Wanda, meeting her gaze. The worry is back in her eyes, but so is the determination. "Ready to kick some more ass?"

She grins. "After you, Captain."


	57. Bucky/Wanda - Person A waking up to find Person B cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her side of the bed is empty, but he can hear her voice trailing from the kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** [doheyed](http://doheyed.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Person A waking up to find Person B cooking in the kitchen. It can be in the morning, or waking up from a short nap and deciding to join them in cooking."

She likes to burrow herself into his side every night, curling up against him just after he's turned off the lamp. She tucks her head under his chin, resting it on his shoulder, and he knows that he can't be more comfortable than a pillow, but she doesn't seem to mind. She seems _content_ to lay on him, twining his metal hand with hers against his chest, and he'll gently drag his other hand through her hair, twirling her curls around his fingers as they talk. And, in the beginning she did most of the talking, but he likes to tell her about his day, about what happened on his assignment, or what memory happened to cross his mind. He tells her about the guilt tugging at his mind, and the things he misses about his home, his time, his old life – and she'll pepper gentle kisses to his throat and he'll hold onto her a little tighter, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest as she whispers sweet promises in his ear that everything is alright. She's right here.

She'll always be right here.

A smile tugs at his lips at he stares up at his ceiling. Her side of the bed is empty, but he can hear her voice trailing from the kitchen, soft and sweet as she gently pads across the tiled floor. She's talking to someone over the phone, and he just takes a moment to listen to her end of the conversation.

His once quiet apartment is always filled with her voice, with her laughter and her singing and her excited chattered and sweet whispers, and he loves it.

He loves _her_.

"…can't believe he hasn't said anything yet." He hears her pause as she pulls open the fridge, and then she giggles. "Well, you _are_ pretty scary, Nat."

He can picture Wanda's cute little smirk, and it makes him grin.

"I would, but he's still asleep." Another pause, and then she breathes out a hushed, " _Natasha_ ," that sounds almost embarrassed, even as her voice trails into a bit of a laugh at the end. "I think he tires me out more than I tire him."

His lips tug at the corners as he remembers last night – her nails digging into his biceps, her legs wrapped around his hips, her spine arched and her curls fanning out over the pillows and her cries of _please, please, please_. She had barely caught her breath when she'd rolled them over, her fingertips warm and leaving his skin tingling as she dragged them down his chest, her lips hot on his and her legs _shaking_ as she rolled her hips and –

He smirks. She definitely tires him out more than she thinks, but he doesn't mind. Not one bit.

He groans a little as he moves to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he rubs a hand over his neck. She'd nipped him pretty hard last night, which he only really remembers because she pressed a kiss to it, _after_ , as she murmured his name in place of a good night. The bruise is gone, though, and he wonders if she'll get that little pout on her lips again when she sees it. She did the last time it happened, and he peppered her face with kisses until she was giggling and squirming in his arms, halfheartedly trying to pull away.

"…just give him time. You know he just wants it to be perfect," Wanda is saying as he walks into the kitchen. She's standing at the stove in the same shirt of his that she fell asleep in, phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear as she pokes at the strips of bacon in her pan with a fork. Her hair is clipped up in this elegant mess atop her head, baring her neck to him, and his eyes go to the marks he'd left along the column of her throat and over the dip of her shoulder.

"We'll talk about it later," she tells Natasha, and she's barely hung up and set the phone aside before he's reached her, brushing his lips over those marks on her neck. She sucks in a soft gasp as he slides his hands over her hips, and he presses himself close, nuzzling his face into her neck. She hums, leaning back against him. "Good morning," she greets, amusement in her tone.

"Morning," he mumbles into her skin.

She flicks her wrist to switch the burner off, then reaches up to brush her fingers through his hair as she turns to press a kiss to his temple.

"What did Natasha want?" he asks, reaching over to snatch a strip of bacon off of the pan and bite the top.

"She wanted to know if I knew anything about Steve and a ring," she says, and he sort of pauses mid-chew for a moment, meeting her eyes. She arches an eyebrow, this adorable, _knowing_ look on her face as she holds his gaze, and, crap. He'd meant to tell her about Steve taking them shopping for a ring – or rather, he, Sam, and Clint _inviting_ themselves to go with him, because Steve was a punk and thought that he could get away with going it alone – but it had slipped his mind. And it's not as if it was his secret to give, anyway.

She doesn't seem upset, though, so he breathes out a laugh. "Yeah," he tells her, and her eyes brighten. "He's just waiting for the perfect time."

"If he waits for _perfect_ , he's never going to get the chance to propose."

He grins. "Now, isn't that the funny part?" She chuckles, and he flexes his fingers at her hip, kissing her hair. "I know where he's coming from, though."

"Yeah?"

He hums in reply, setting his bacon down so he can turn her to face him, his hips pinning hers against the counter. She gnaws on her lower lip as she looks up at him from under her long eyelashes, and, _fuck_. He just wants to kiss her. He just always wants to kiss her. "Yeah," he echoes, holding her stare as she presses her hands flat against his chest, sliding them up, slowly, until they're resting at his shoulders. Her thumb brushes at the seam where his metal meets his skin, and he shivers ever so slightly. He remembers when that spot had been too sensitive for anyone to touch. Now, when it's her, his body shudders for an entirely different reason. "When it's our turn, I want it to be perfect, too."

She smiles at that – _our turn_ – and clings onto him a little tighter, like she knows exactly what he's promising. Like she's promising to do the same.

"It will," she tells him, stretching up to brush her lips to his.

"I know," he repeats, and then he grasps her chin with his fingers and kisses her a little slower, a little deeper. When it's time, he'll know.

 _They'll_ know, and it'll be _perfect_.


	58. Steve & Tony - what if Pepper actually was pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries not to, but he can't quite stop staring at her – at the little girl bundled up in a knit, pale yellow blanket, sound asleep in her mother's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,300  
>  **for:** [doheyed](http://doheyed.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** "what if pepper actually was pregnant and the baby brings the avengers together"

He tries not to, but he can't quite stop staring at her – at the little girl bundled up in a knit, pale yellow blanket, sound asleep in her mother's arms. Pepper says that she fusses all night long ("She's needy, just like her father," she had said, and Steve's chest tightened at the word, but he gave her as genuine of a smile as he could manage). But Steve has yet to see little Nikki stir in the few hours they've spent in Tony and Pepper's cottage. It's a quaint place, far from prying eyes, and Steve can't quite help the uncomfortable curl in his chest as he keeps glancing around the cozy house, wondering how long it would take for the peace to shatter with them being there. It's been on the back of his mind since they walked in. Since the pale pink envelope fell from the grocery bag that he'd been in the middle of unloading, one word inked across the back:

 _Uncle_.

Steve had spent too long staring at that word, almost more than he'd spent staring at the picture inside of Pepper, her hair unfurled and her expression tired but her eyes _bright_ , cradling a tiny little thing swaddled in a polka dot hospital blanket in her arms. There was an address written across the back which didn't ring a bell to Steve, but he wasn't surprised. Tony had to have inherited at least a dozen of these hidden properties after Howard and Maria passed.

Steve had been hesitant to come, to even respond, but not because he was wary of the intention. Somehow, he knew that it wasn't a set-up. Not one from Tony, at least. Steve had wondered if Pepper went behind his back to have these delivered, but that didn't seem like something she would pull.

"She's cute, isn't she?" Natasha had asked when he settled onto the couch beside her with the picture in his hand. She didn't seem surprised, and Wanda hadn't so much as stirred from where she was curled up on her side, her head in Natasha's lap. He knows that Natasha has probably seen Baby Nikki for herself. She's only left his side once since the fallout from The Accords, shortly after Pepper would've already given birth, and though they've never once talked about it – he never asked, and a few times she seemed like she was going to tell him, but backed out in the end – he knows that that's where she went. She'd mentioned that Tony tracked her down after to see for himself that she was fine. He's always been more fond of Natasha than he's ever admitted, and Steve knows that Natasha will always have a soft spot for Tony, too.

"Yeah," Steve had said, still staring at the picture. His chest had felt tight, his voice barely above a whisper. "She looks like Tony."

"Would you like to meet her?"

He hadn't answered, but that's because she already knew what he'd say.

Still, he wonders if it had been his right to come at all, with or without the invitation. Tony hasn't quite looked him in the eye the whole time, nor has he said much to them, any of them. He had been a little surprised to see _all_ of them here. He's only gotten bits and pieces of what happened to them after he'd left the airport with Bucky, but the resentment had been obvious. He maybe hated that most out of everything that happened. Their fight had driven a wedge between not only him and Tony, but all of them. He wonders if things could ever come close to being what they were before – not peaceful, exactly, but _comfortable_. Hopeful.

Steve glances around the living room again – at Sam and Vision talking in the dining room, and Clint and Rhodey sharing a beer in the kitchen, and Peter chattering to Wanda about his Calculus homework – and feels the tightness in his chest ebb ever so slightly. Maybe they could get that back, someday.

_Maybe._

Natasha's laughter trails through the air, making Steve's lips twitch into a bit of a smile as he turns to look at where she, Pepper, and Maria are huddled close together on the couch. Pepper is shifting Baby Nikki into Natasha's arms, and Steve feels his breath catch as Natasha peers down at her, lips moving as she talks, brushing her fingertips through the baby's thin hair. It's a beautiful image – a _damn beautiful_ image, and one that, now that it's in his head, he knows he'll find himself consumed with.

"You know, you might as well go over there," Tony says, his gaze also fixed on the girls as he comes to stand a few paces away from Steve. "You're the only one who hasn't carried her yet," he adds, and Steve can tell that this is just an observation, not some kind of insult. Tony's lips quirk. "Scared, Rogers?"

"A little bit," Steve admits.

Tony brings his glass to his lips, hesitating before he answers, "So was I," and then takes a sip. Steve turns his head. Tony still isn't looking him, but it feels a little less intentional than before. A little less like he's trying to ignore Steve is even there. Maybe that's just in his head, but somehow, Steve knows it isn't.

Steve curls and uncurls his fists in his pockets, glancing back at Natasha for a moment, watching the way she tips her face forward to press a light kiss to the baby's cheek. The tightness in his chest ebbs a little more, and he exhales a breath. "You'll be a good father, Tony," Steve tells him, meaning it. His words are met with quiet, but when Steve looks at him, Tony's nonchalant expression cracks a little. "And Pepper is going to be a really good mother."

Tony _smiles_ , small but bright. "Now _that_ I can agree on, soldier."

The nickname eases the tension in Steve's body even more, makes his heart flutter with warmth. With _hope_.

He licks his lips, turning to look at the girls again as Natasha's gaze flicks up from Baby Nikki, meeting his from across the room. She smiles, eyes sparkling. She's _so beautiful_. He's known this, but sometimes it still catches him off guard.

"Natasha's good with kids. Who knew, huh?"

Steve can't help but grin a little. "I did," he says, voice soft.

"I know," Tony says. Steve looks at him. "You're not good at subtle, Rogers."

"No, I guess not," he admits with a bit of a laugh. He thinks about the way he didn't quite know how to react to the press of her lips, against his on the escalator, and then against his cheek in the cemetery. He remembers squinting against the sunlight to have to look at her, when they first met, and then when they fought on the ground together in New York. She's always had a knack for taking his breath away.

"The quiet life," Tony starts, Steve's gaze still lingering on Natasha. "It could suit you, too."

Steve blows out a breath. "I doubt it's possible anymore."

"Give it some time," Tony tells him, voice soft. Steve hears something else in it, because his tone sounds almost, _almost_ , like a promise. "You'll get there."

"Maybe," Steve says, watching Natasha shift Baby Nikki in her arms, pulling her close, and he lets his thoughts wander – bright, blurry images flickering in his mind of Natasha with her hair in an elegant mess of a ponytail, cradling a little baby in her arms, her face nuzzled close to theirs, humming gently. Of Natasha curled up on a couch with a blanket pulled up around her shoulders, smiling as she looks up at him from under those long eyelashes. Of Natasha stirring against the morning sunlight, blinking herself awake, a _bright_ smile tugging at her lips as she meets his gaze and murmurs his name in this content little sigh. It's far from the first time he's imagined these things, but, it's never felt as real to him as it does in this moment. It's never felt this hopeful.

 _Maybe_.


	59. Steve/Natasha - "You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Steve Rogers could coax her into getting out of bed at _six in the morning._
> 
> Honestly, if the sun isn't even up, they shouldn't be, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **for:** charmedjeri  
>  **prompt:** "You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn."
> 
> I've been sicker than death the last few days so i combed through my older prompts for something extra fluffy to write to make me feel a little better.

Only Steve Rogers could coax her into getting out of bed at _six in the morning_.

Honestly, if the sun isn't even up, they shouldn't be, either.

He had just laughed at her when she whined (yes, _whined_ ) this, peeling the blanket away and peppering kisses down her neck as he told her that he wanted to show her something, that it would definitely be worth it, and _damn him_ for being so damn convincing all the time. Not that he'd actually woken her up or anything. She'd been trying for the last four hours to fall asleep after coming home from Istanbul, but It's always been hard for her to unwind right after a mission. Which was something she'd never batted an eye at it before moving in with Steve and suddenly there was someone to feel her tossing and turning in the bed and pull her close, or make her a cup of tea to help her nerves, or lay with her in the dark and talk with her until his voice lulled her to sleep.

Maybe that's why she feels particularly unsettled right now. She can't remember the last time she had this much trouble falling asleep.

And maybe that's why she doesn't _really_ fight it when Steve pulls her out of bed, his eyes bright even in the dark, sparkling in that way that makes her smile despite the scowl she's trying to give him for dragging her up in the first place. He tugs one of his sweaters of her head, presses a kiss to her forehead when they're in the car and twines his fingers with hers over the center console as he starts driving.

They drive in a comfortable quiet for a while before he brings her hand up and kisses the tops of her knuckles, for no particular reason.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn," she says – well, mumbles, because she might have been close to drifting off ten minutes into their drive, but it's kind of hard not to with the heater blasting and Steve humming along to whatever ballad happened to come onto the radio. She'd curled up in the passenger seat, leaning on his arm, and she doesn't hate being with him like this right now, even at this ridiculous hour.

He chuckles. "I need a reason to take my girlfriend out?"

"When she was perfectly comfortable in bed and you drag her out before her alarm has even gone off, then yes." He chuckles again, turns his head to press a kiss to her hair. "Seriously, Steve, where the hell are we going? We've been driving for half an hour."

"Well, we needed to be a decent distance from the city for it to be perfect," he tells her, pulling the car off to the shoulder of the empty stretch of highway that they'd been driving along. She furrows her eyebrows, glancing around – they seemed to be nowhere in particular, with nothing but stretches of field around them – and when she turns to Steve, he's got that ridiculously boyish smile of his that gets her _every single time_. He slips out of his seat and shuts the door before coming around the front of the car, opening her side and holding his hand out to her. She's still giving him a strange look even as she curves her fingers around his.

Then he grasps her by her hips and _lifts_ her, and she's sort of laughing as she snaps, "Steve!" He laughs, too, setting her on top of the car before climbing on and sitting himself right next to her. She can only imagine how ridiculous they look like this, pulled over on the highway and sitting on top of a car in their pajamas, and honestly, she shouldn't be so surprised that _this_ was his intention all along. He drapes her legs over his lap so that she's half-sitting on him and slants his lips over hers, and she feels herself laugh against the kiss.

"Tell me you didn't drag my ass out of bed so we could watch a damn sunrise."

She knows she's smiling way too widely to even pretend to be annoyed, and he laughs and kisses the bridge of her nose. "It's romantic," he says, like the idiot he is, the idiot she's hopelessly in love with, and she gives a little shove at his chest because _god_ , he's such a sap. "Besides, I've never seen an actual sunrise before. Hard to get a decent one when you've lived in the city your whole life." He curls his arm around her shoulders and tucks her a little closer to his chest. "It only makes sense that I'd share this moment with you, right?"

"Obviously," she says, grinning, and he breathes out a chuckle and turns his head toward the horizon, where daylight is starting to peak through. She wraps her arms around his torso and hugs herself closer, glancing up at him and sees his entire face brighten like the sunlight as it slowly spreads out over the mountains and across the field. She smiles, her heart doing this little flip in her chest.

The sunrise is beautiful, no doubt.

She kind of likes her view a little more, though.

"I'd never seen one before, either," she tells him, voice soft, so soft that she thinks he doesn't catch it for a moment. But he breaks his gaze away from the horizon, eyes still sparkling as he peers at her. "A sunrise," she clarifies, and just when she thought his expression couldn't get any brighter, it does.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she breathes, and reaches up to cup his jaw, tilting her face closer to his. "Thanks for taking me," she whispers, and he slants his lips over hers, the sunrise forgotten for a moment as he kisses her breath away.


	60. Bucky/Wanda - nearly missing Stephanie's first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t make my goddaughter cry, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** an anon  
>  **prompt:** "Is it too much for a prompt with cute baby Stephanie, and with either of her parents Nearly missing one of her firsts? I luv the interaction of Bucky + Wanda + Steph (ne age)"

“Come on, baby girl. You can do it. Come on.”

Stephanie reaches for him again with one of her tiny little hands, but she’s still gripping onto the couch with the other, meaning she hasn’t gotten very far in the last three minutes since Bucky has been coaxing her to take her first steps. She’s perfectly comfortable toddling around as long as she has something to hold onto, so he knows it’s only a matter of time before she does it on her own for a few seconds. Wanda says they shouldn’t rush her, and he’s _not_ , but he’s excited, you know? She doesn’t seem all that eager to let go of the couch right now, though, and when she realizes that he’s not going to crawl over to her, she makes this upset little sound and pouts. _Fuck_ , she looks so much like her mother when she does that.

“Don’t make my goddaughter cry, Buck,” Steve says with a laugh, still recording them from where he’s sitting on the floor at the other end of the couch.

Bucky scowls, but then Stephanie makes that little noise again and that’s literally _all_ it takes for him to relent. “Aw, baby girl, don’t make that face at me,” he coos, scooting across the carpet to her again. Her little hand reaches for his metal arm, and her whole face lights up as soon as she meets its cold, familiar touch. He flashes a smile, scoops her into his arms and presses a sloppy kiss on her cheek, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You know, it’s probably for the best,” Steve says as he switches off his phone. “Wanda would be upset if she misses Stephanie’s first steps.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, holding Stephanie up as she bounces up and down on the tops of his thighs. Wanda had just gone back into the field when Stephanie rolled onto her stomach and then back for the first time, and he’d been in Berlin with Sam when she started to crawl. It sucks having to miss a baby’s first anything, and he doesn’t want Wanda to miss out on one as big as Stephanie’s first steps. But he can tell Stephanie _wants_ to take them and is just too scared to do it just yet, so he wants to help her get over that.

“Any word from Tony yet?”

“Not yet.” Steve’s smile is reassuring, though there’s a touch of guilt in his eyes. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like it’s his fault something is wrong.

 _Nothing_ is wrong, actually. He needs to remind himself that.

Wanda and Sharon were delayed on their mission and they didn’t get back to New York until a few hours ago, but they’ve been held up at the Facility for a lot longer than a regular debriefing. Usually that means there were critical injuries to attend to, but Tony would’ve told them if something serious happened. Bucky knows the guy wouldn’t try to downplay that kind of thing, either. Still, his mind has been kind of all over the place, and he knows that’s the real reason why Steve came over to hang out while Natasha “had quality time” with the kids. (Seriously, though. Eighty years later and the guy still can’t manage subtle.)

“They probably got tied up in the reports. You know how technical those are.”

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t sound all that convincing, even to his own ears, so Bucky busies himself with tickling Stephanie’s tummy. She lets out a peel of laughter, and already that eases the tightness in his chest. His little girl’s got the prettiest voice ever. Well, she’s in a tight race with her mama, at least. He doesn’t get how they could sound like bells, but they do, and he loves it.

“Really, Buck,” Steve says, voice a little softer this time. “She’s perfectly fine. You’d know if that wasn’t true. You’d feel it.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s just… this one misses her mama, right, baby girl?”

“ _Mmmah_ ,” Stephanie coos, making Bucky grin. He knows she’s probably just mimicking him, but still. “Mah.” She bounces on her feet again. “ _Mah!_ ”

“Mama,” Bucky repeats. “That’s right, princess.”

“She’s getting pretty close,” Steve says, sounding a little excited himself. “Better hope she doesn’t say it before Wanda gets the chance to hear.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughs. “She’d definitely be pissed about missing that.”

Stephanie babbles happily, practically jumping on him now, and he’s totally distracted by that giddy sparkle in her eyes that he doesn’t register the soft sounds coming from outside the apartment. Not until the keys are already chiming together as the door is being unlocked and pushed open, and his head snaps up to meet Wanda’s big, bright, beautiful eyes as she’s stepping inside. She looks a little breathless, with her hair sort of in her face, like she’d rushed over, and he just – _blinks_ like an idiot, not quite registering that she’s standing there, that she’s actually _home_ , until her lips pull back into a brilliant smile.

“Hi,” she breathes, walking toward them, and Stephanie twists in his grasp and totally lights up when she sees Wanda.

“Mama!”

Bucky actually feels his heart skip a beat, and Wanda pauses, her eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, like she isn’t sure if she’d heard that correctly.

“ _Mama_ ,” Stephanie says again, her voice louder and more insistent as she reaches for her mother. Surprise flashes across Wanda’s face, dissolving into that soft, quivering sort of smile that she gets when she’s a little overwhelmed. She sinks onto the floor in front of them, taking Stephanie from him and cuddling her close. She looks like she’s two seconds from crying.

He’s right there with her, to be honest.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Wanda says, pressing a kiss to Stephanie’s cheek.

Bucky leans forward, pressing a kiss to Stephanie’s other cheek, and she giggles happily between them, wrapping her little arms around her mother’s neck and hugging her with all her might. “Who’s that, baby girl? Who’s that?”

“Mama!”

Wanda meets his gaze, eyelashes dotting with tears as she blinks. He grins as he wipes at the corners of her eyes with his thumb.

“Got you back just in time, didn’t I?” Tony asks as he sets her bag down on the floor by the couch. Bucky barely noticed that the guy had walked in behind her, and he scowls at Tony, which makes him hold both hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I _swore_ I thought I sent you a text when we left the Facility, but _this one_ ” – he points at Wanda, who’s still smiling even as she rolls her eyes – “was so distraught about wanting to finally go home that it distracted me.”

“That’s a bad excuse, even coming from you,” Steve says with a smirk.

Tony rolls his eyes, and Bucky just mutters, “whatever,” and wraps his arms around his girls. “All that matters is that mama’s home, right, Steph?”

“Mama,” Stephanie says in this happy little sigh, and yeah, Wanda’s definitely starting to cry when he leans in for a kiss, but he hardly minds.


	61. Bucky/Wanda + "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows this is all just built up in his head. But that doesn't mean he has to like it when people start flirting with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** purple-aeon  
>  **prompt:** "Could you do Winterwitch with the prompt "Wait a minute, are you jealous?" With Bucky getting jealous over someone"

He knows she's not doing it on purpose. She's not that kind of person, just like she's not the kind of person that realizes just how beautiful she is, that really understands the kind of attention she draws. She's got all this brightness and cheerfulness to her that everyone latches onto, and the fact that she's so damn pretty is just another reason for everyone to fawn over her. He doesn't doubt her and her commitment to him, not even for a second. He knows this is all just built up in his head. But that doesn't mean he has to like it when people start flirting with her.

Especially _this_ guy, who's got a job to do and should be checking to see if Wanda's vitals are in check, not trying to cop a feel.

God, he sounds like a total jackass, doesn't he? He knows almost all of the medical staff here had been hand-picked by either Helen or Bruce, and he sure as hell trusts their judgment, so he knows, rationally, he doesn't have anything to worry about. It's not like the guy is _actually_ trying to make a move on Wanda. They're just laughing as he goes through the typical tests that are run on all of them after a mission, and Wanda seems totally relaxed. As oblivious she is to being hit on, she can sense when someone is being genuine or not, and the fact that she's at ease means that she can sense that the guy is harmless.

And Bucky is a spectacular asshole.

"Keep scowling like that and your face will stick that way."

"Punk," Bucky mutters. Steve grins a little wider and shakes his head. That's another way Bucky knows he's being an idiot. Steve wouldn't be teasing him like this if he thought Bucky was genuinely upset about something, especially about Wanda. She's his whole world and Steve knows this. "How's your face?"

No, he's not saying it out of concern. Steve chuckles because he can tell.

"It'll be gone by the morning," he says, smoothing his fingers over the nasty purple coloring along the line of his jaw. "My face still looks better than yours."

Bucky actually shoves the guy's arm, and Natasha appears out of thin air, practically, smirking as she says, "Play nice, boys. Tony will have no problem sending you a bill if you break any of his pretty equipment." Bucky chuckles and leans away, if only to give the two of them room when Natasha walks right up to Steve and wraps her arms around his neck. Steve hums, hands sliding over her hips and giving them a squeeze, and Natasha gingerly strokes her fingertips over his bruise. "Poor baby," she teases, then tips her head up and brushes her lips over his bruise, giving a slow, gentle kiss. Steve makes this little noise from the back of his throat and pulls their hips together.

Bucky groans. He doesn't know how these two can be so sickeningly cute and sexy at the same time, but he's not sticking around to figure it out.

" _God._ Get a room."

He gets ignored, of course, so he walks toward Wanda just as she's hopping off of the examination table. She catches his gaze and beams at him, and the guy turns to look at him, too, giving a polite smile. "I just finished telling Wanda that she's perfectly healthy, so she has clearance for the field," he informs Bucky. He sounds as harmless as he looks, which only makes Bucky feel like a bigger idiot for glaring at him the whole time.

"Glad to hear," Bucky says, and he knows his voice sounds off.

The guy tells Wanda that he's uploaded her results to the debrief report and medical records, then nods at Bucky before turning to leave. If he'd picked up on Bucky's tone, he didn't let it on. Wanda frowns as she comes to stand in front of him, wrinkling her eyebrows as she peers up at him. "What's wrong?" she asks as she takes his hands in hers, giving them a squeeze.

"Nothing." Wrong thing to say and he knows it. She frowns a little more. "It's stupid, so don't worry about it. I promise."

"It must be something," she starts, giving him an odd look, "because you were rather curt with…" Her voice trails off as she stares at him. Once upon a time, he would've been paranoid about her trying to look into his head. That wasn't even too long ago, really. It's kind of crazy to think of how many years he'd tried his hardest to keep everyone out, how much he _hated_ people prodding around in there, and then Wanda comes along and he thinks that… well, if anyone were to be in his head again, he'd actually feel _safe_ if it was her. He'd trust her to know what to do, to take care of him. The funny thing is that he's the only one she doesn't do that with. The team has gotten used to her being so attuned to their thoughts and emotions, and he knows the fact that they're comfortable with it, with _her_ , makes her a hell of a lot happier than she'd ever admit. But with him, it's different. She has his trust and she knows it, which is exactly why she refuses to let herself in there. Not unless he asks.

She doesn't even _need_ to be in his head, really. She reads him so damn well that he's like an open book.

Which is why he's not the least bit surprised when realization crosses her expression, and she raises her eyebrows a little as if in surprise as she asks "Wait a minute, are you jealous?" He sighs. Well, it sounds even more ridiculous now that she's said it out loud. "James," she says.

"I trust you," he answers instead. He knows that she knows, but still. The words are still important to say. "It's all in my head, doll. I told you it was stupid."

She _giggles_ , stretches up to kiss him on the lips, soft and slow and sweet. Then she slips her tongue against the seam of his mouth and he groans softly, lets out a breath when she pulls back and has that sparkle in her eyes. "It's rather silly of you, yes," she admits. "But it's kind of cute, too."

He chuckles. "Cute?"

She cards her fingers into his hair, cradles the back of his head as her free hand slides over his neck, her fingertips tracing lightly over his pulse. "Yes, cute," she says, voice teasing. He's grinning as he shakes his head. "You and your ancient ways of thinking. Sometimes I forget just how old you are."

"Ancient?" He wraps his arms around her and lifts her up, and she's giggling as she hooks her legs around his hips. "You're going to pay for that."

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

He laughs. That's his girl.


	62. Steve/Natasha - Nat seducing Steve before a meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has that look in her eyes, that little sparkle in them that lures him in every damn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **for:** [castielgurl](http://castielgurl.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** "Steve is going to meeting with Fury. Nat trying to seduce him. She kiss him goodbye with passion like wont let him go. What is she trying to do? He look at door then look back to her. She smile cheekily. Then he think meeting or sex?"
> 
> I had a point to this and then I lost it.

He doesn’t know what she’s up to.

Well, no. He probably knows exactly what she’s up to. Because she has that look in her eyes, that little sparkle in them that lures him in every damn time. That makes his head spin and his skin tingle, itching to tug her to him, to wrap himself around her. Not just because she’s beautiful, but because she seems so _damn happy_. She looks into his eyes and sees them dark with desire and deep with affection and it knocks the breath out of him because _he_ does that to her. He makes her forget about the world, about every one of her horrors and regrets and demons, if even for a moment. He’s her safe haven. He can see it as clear as day in those bright, sparkling eyes.

How could he not bend his knee to her every damn whim?

“Nat, no.”

She’s planted herself on his side of the desk, _on_ the desk, her legs crossed and the hem of her dress hitched up. He can see the coloring of the bruise he bit into the inside of her thigh, which he knows is the whole damn point.

He glances at the clock; he’s got twenty minutes to get to the main conference room. He can’t skip this meeting with Nick. He _can’t_.

“What?” She blinks, her expression one of perfect innocence.

He chuckles – she’s so damn ridiculous, this woman – and stands from his desk chair. “Getting back into the good graces of the world’s governments is hinging on how well Nick, Tony, and I can put everything together.” He arches an eyebrow at her. “This is going to make or break whether the Avengers can operate within a decent realm of freedom, or if it becomes the Accords all over again.”

“I know,” she says simply. In theory, he knows she does. But the fact that she’s still looking at him like she wants to rip him out of his suit tells him otherwise.

“Okay,” he replies, moving to walk around the desk. But she hooks a leg around his waist before he can get very far, grabs his tie and wraps it around her hand, tugging him close. They’re not pressed together, but he thinks it’s almost worse this way. He gets the tease of her body heat but not the feel of her curves pressing against him. He gives her a look. “Natasha,” he breathes.

“I want my goodbye kiss,” she tells him. She tips her head up, ghosts her lips over his. “Since when don’t you kiss me goodbye?”

He hums, indulging her with a gentle brush of his lips against hers. But of course that isn’t enough. She hooks her other leg around him, pulls his body over hers and grasps his face with both hands to kiss him harder, deeper. A groan rumbles in his chest. _God_ , he doesn’t know why he ever tries to deny her anything when he caves every single time. Because he never wants to tell her no. He wants to cast away all her shadows, to slay all of her demons, to give her the whole damn world.

And the craziest part? She _looks_ at him like he can. Like she wants him to.

And he does. _God,_ of course he does.

“Nat,” he groans, and he doesn’t know how he brings himself to pull away, but he does. He glances over her shoulder at the clock. Seventeen minutes.

She blinks, looks up at him from under her long eyelashes.

 _Fuck_. Those eyes are going to be the death of him.

“Fine,” he breathes, even though he knows she hasn’t asked him anything yet, and she just – _lights up_. His breath stutters, and then this sort of laugh slips from her lips as she leans forward and nips at the lobe of his ear, and a warmth unravels low in his stomach. He’d do anything to see her look at him like that, to keep that sparkle in her eyes, to hear that burst of delight on her lips.

“What about your meeting?” she asks, breath warm against his ear, her tone teasing. She’s always such a damn tease.

He pulls back to meet her gaze, lips twitching in a smirk. “I’m still going.” Her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, her smile widening, her eyes burning and bright and brilliant. He unhooks her legs from around his waist, presses them apart. “I’ve still got sixteen minutes left. Plenty of time to take care of you before I go,” he tells her, and she quirks an eyebrow at him as if in a taunt.

“You think I’m that easy, Rogers?” Her voice is low and almost strained with her desire.

“No.” He slides his hands up her thighs, under the hem of her dress, curls his fingers around the waistband of her panties. Her _lace_ panties. Of course. He doesn’t even try to hide his smile when he twists the thin material between his fingers, and her eyes flash, her tongue licking over her lower lip in anticipation. “But I’ve never been one to back down from a good challenge.”

Then he rips the lace with a twist of his wrists, yanking her panties off and tossing them aside as he sinks onto his knees in front of her. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, drags her to the edge of his desk as he presses her other leg apart, opening her up even more. She threads a hand into his hair and he tips his head back to look up at her, meeting her eyes. They’re hazy and dark and dizzying, but there’s a lightness to them, a strange calm in the swirl of burning desire. A pure contentment that blinds out the rest of the world.

He’d spend the rest of his life on his knees before her if she keeps looking at him like that. 

“Clock’s ticking, Captain,” she says, and he lets out a laugh as he dips his head forward.

(He makes it to the conference room on the dot, ignoring the look Tony gives him when he walks in with his lips pulled in a smile.)


End file.
